Ashes from Ashes
by Unliteration
Summary: Professor wants his family back. Is he prepared to pay the cost? Fifth in the Ladder series.
1. Chapter 1

Ashes from Ashes: Winner Loses All

Chapter 1

[I'm Here]

"Hello, computer," Professor Utonium said to the empty laboratory. There was no response. "Resume audio transcription," he added.

His voice was unsteady, and some time passed before he spoke further. He idly flipped back and forth between two papers on a clipboard. "Administered 10 ccs of regenerative agent RA dash 03 to subject G at T minus zero. Tissue damage reversed, but no further activity. Verified connections and status of monitoring equipment. At T minus one minute, forty-seven seconds, I declared the subject non-responsive and proceeded to terminate the trial. However, as I did so I noted the subject's eyes were...following me."

Professor paused here, swallowing deeply and squeezing a pen in his hand like a stress relief ball. "I rechecked vital signs and confirmed no pulse or breath. Verified flow of regenerative agent was indeed off. Subject was not responsive to following my finger or my pen light, and did not respond to...verbal commands to move her eyes or blink. Subject...subject instead locked eyes with mine whenever possible."

Professor sat in silent stillness, having stopped squeezing the pen as well. He stared into an empty corner of the lab, lost in thought.

"Cessation of motion occurred at approximately T minus four minutes, twenty-seven seconds. Recommend monitoring of brain activity for future trials.

"Computer, please terminate and archive audio transcription."

The only response was a "ching" sound reminiscent of an old typewriter.

Professor tapped the butt of his pen on the counter, half-trying and half-pretending to read his notes.

Behind him was a small child lying on a gurney. She had the outward appearance of Buttercup, as she had appeared when created more than six years ago. His girls had grown over the years. _This_ girl had been created by Blossom much more recently. Blossom had named her Ashley. For the moment she was simply subject G.

Likewise, Blossom and Bubbles were subjects R and B, respectively.

Until they could become themselves again, dissociation was for the best.

Ashley's eyes currently stared at the ceiling. Still. Empty. Cold.

Professor reached out for a nearby cup of coffee. His hand shook slightly as he lifted it to his lips.

* * *

Author's Forward:

Professor Utonium just wants his family back again. Is it even possible? And is he willing to pay the price to make it happen?

 _Ashes from Ashes_ is the fifth entry of a study in horror—the _Ladder_ series. While most entries are intended to stand alone, _Ashes_ _from_ _Ashes_ is not. New readers are encouraged to back up to _Unstrung_ at the least. They are, of course, welcome to start at the beginning with _Ladder_ as well.

Each story in the series examines a different form of horror. Horror does not always inspire fright, nor does it always try. _Ashes_ _from_ _Ashes_ explores the horror of "lesser" evils and the loss that entails.

Other stories in the series examine horror from other perspectives. Each has a different focus and a different "feel." However, they all continue the same story line, and they were all written with the assistance of mood-setting music.

These stories list a musical accompaniment that is entirely optional, but which the reader is encouraged to follow. Although not a crossover with Silent Hill, its music and music inspired by it includes some of the most beautiful, haunting melodies this author has heard. Readers who have taken the time to find these albums and songs (many freely and legally available online) have expressed their happiness in doing so.

I personally dislike reading (and try to avoid writing) certain things. Well-established characters acting out-of-character without good reason or explanation. Grittiness and death as an alternative to telling a story. It's up to you, dear reader, to judge my success or failure in these regards.

Suggested listening, presented in the order they are used:

01 – I'm Here (Silent Hill Fan Soundtrack)

02 – E-Tangin (Silent Hill 4)

03 – No Promise (Essentia)

04 – Tears of Ashes (Soiled Shores)

05 – Torn Angelus (Tears of Ashes)

06 – Gray Afternoon (Broken Notes Sanatorium - Lost Chapters Disc 2)

07 – Remembrance (Soiled Shores)

08 – Theme of Eileen – Protection (Broken Notes Intermission 1)

09 – Anastatic (Broken Notes Extremitas 1)

10 – Blind Memory (Soiled Shores)

11 – Two Evils (Silent Hill 4 Limited Edition)

12 – Confrontation (Broken Notes Extremitas 1)

13 – Ten Carillons (The Art of Dying)

14 – Lifetime (Silent Hill 4 Limited Edition)

15 – E-Tangin (Silent Hill 4)

16 – Anywhere But Here (Soiled Shores)

17 – Surface Tension (Silent Hill 3 Unreleased)

18 – Compressed Into Time (Broken Notes Unreleased)

19 – The Perfect Denial (Soiled Shores)

20 – Triptych (Endless Delusions)

21 – Death of the Butterfly (Endless Delusions)

22 – Wasted Words (Broken Notes Extremitas)

23 – Memoria Eterna (Broken Notes Extremitas)

24 – Omen (Broken Notes Extremitas)

25 – Memories of the Girl (Broken Notes Unedited)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

[E-Tangin]

"Hello, computer," Professor Utonium said while he wheeled a gurney into the main lab area. Before Bubbles had passed away, he'd built a smaller "inner lab" into the main basement area. A room-within-a-room, protected with a lining that Bubbles's eyes could not see through. It was here he secretly preserved the bodies of Ashley and Blossom. Buttercup herself had been cremated, long before Professor even considered what he was doing now. A prudent measure at the time, though one he now regretted daily.

A reckless accident. Suicides. A fatal case of mistaken identity. Starting with Buttercup's tragic interstellar battle, his family had been whittled away until only he remained.

Though he lived alone now, the inner lab was a convenient storage space and secure from visitors. Sara Bellum, for example.

Blossom lay on this gurney, covered in a thin, blue blanket to preserve her modesty. It was pulled up to her chest, though her arms were left bare and lay on top of it. Each arm had a tap into a vein for ease of injections and the like. The other oddity was that her long, luxurious hair was almost completely cut off. An uneven, rushed job she herself had performed shortly before her passing. Previous regeneration trials had erased all other outward signs of her ordeal.

While he parked Blossom in place, he continued speaking. "Create new audio transcription. Category: Project Rebreather. Title: round seventeen. Begin."

Professor stopped speaking while he strapped Blossom to the gurney. He tapped into an I.V. line in her arm. The tube led up to a bag labeled "Antidote X / Nutrient Mix 3b." Once their biological functions began to kick in, powers returned quickly unless prevented.

"Administering 15 ccs of RA dash 46 to subject R," Professor said, measuring the amount in a hypodermic needle. He set it aside for a moment, pulling down the blanket that covered Blossom's otherwise-bare body. Her skin was an unsightly, pale color in the fluorescent lights of the basement laboratory.

With practiced ease, Professor attached sensor pads to various areas and pulled the blanket back up. He then pulled something like a hairnet over her head, attached to a device designed to record brain function.

"Standard preparations. Pause audio transcription."

Professor retrieved the hypodermic and injected its contents. Within a few seconds, a pulse began to materialize. Professor checked his watch and made notes on a clipboard.

In less than a minute, Blossom's eyes opened. They briefly passed over Professor, but mostly just wandered aimlessly.

"Hello," Professor said firmly and clearly.

"Hello," Blossom said, though her head and eyes continued to loll about. "Have you seen the colors today?"

"Do you know your name?"

"My name is Blossom. You're Professor Utonium. Nice to meet you. I'm sorry, have we met—"

Professor spoke over her, asking, "How old are you?"

"Eleven." After a pause, she continued, "Thirteen. Seventeen. Nineteen. Twenty-three. Twenty-ni—"

"What's the last thing you remember before waking up here?"

"Falling asleep here. My head hurt and I felt cold and I went to sleep."

Before she could go off on another tangent, or before Professor dwelt too long on his own memories of her death, he pressed on. Her response was similar after each question. Briefly her mind would come somewhere near the answer, but would wander off. If she had any real awareness of where she was or what was happening, she didn't show it.

Gradually, her pulse began to weaken. Her voice grew fainter, and she fell into unconsciousness. Shortly after, beyond even that.

"Hello, computer. Resume audio transcription. No major change in behavior. Vitals stable at T minus fourteen seconds. Semi-consciousness at T minus fifty-one seconds. Responded to questioning, but verbally only and with little conscious effort. R's responses were stream-of-consciousness. Possibly not responses so much as her thoughts drifting in response to my questions. Brain activity indicative of some blend of seizure and R.E.M. sleep patterns. Vitals began destabilizing at T minus six minutes, seventeen seconds. Unconsciousness at T minus seven minutes, thirty seconds. Full destabilization at T minus nine minutes, two seconds."

"Computer, please terminate and archive audio transcription."

An audible "ching" indicated the end of another log.

Professor removed the monitors from Blossom and rolled her back into the inner lab.

A short while later, he rolled out the smaller, younger Ashley. He repeated his preparations and started new experiment notes. Although he dubbed this round eighteen, he used the same dosage of the same agent he'd used on Blossom.

"Pause audio transcription," he said at last. Again, he proceeded with the injection.

Ashley was no less pale than Blossom. If anything, her dark hair made her seem paler. Somehow, her rest seemed less peaceful than Blossom's. Something in the lines and contours of her face, the extra curl in her fingers, made her seem tense. Taut.

Professor noted the progress once again. First vital signs, then the stirring of consciousness.

Ashley's eyes lolled before her eyelids were persuaded to open. Blossom's halfhearted wakening was quite different from Ashley's, which seemed more akin to a desperate crawl from a nightmare to the waking world.

Her eyes locked with Professor's. Then she screamed.

Professor seemed unperturbed. He stared down at her and tried speaking in a normal voice that was buried under her scream, which seemed every bit a fit of rage. Ashley struggled against the bonds holding her to the gurney, sometimes straining and other times thrashing. Even through her most violent contortions, her eyes remained fixed on his.

After several minutes, the strain in her voice was starting to become evident. As the regenerative agent began to lose its effect, her voice and body grew weaker. Near the end, her cries degenerated into choppy, wet sounds from her throat, as she randomly inhaled or exhaled in short, occasional bursts. At this time, her eyes half-closed and rolled around in her head. Instead of flailing, her body was slowly undulating according to some indecipherable rhythm.

When she finally settled, the unnatural tenseness in her still form seemed only fitting.

Professor's lip quivered, though this was barely perceptible even if one were looking for it. He sucked in a deep, sharp breath through his nose, the sound of moisture therein revealing more of his emotional state than anything.

Putting on a soft smile, though for who's benefit was anyone's guess, he rest his fingers on her temple and gently brushed her forehead with his thumb. He offered no words, but bent forward and kissed her forehead.

He wasn't certain why Ashley was responding so poorly compared to Blossom or Bubbles, even given the same treatments. For a time he feared his earliest experiments, which began with Ashley alone, had caused some kind of lasting damage. But search as he might, there was no sign of it.

That said, Ashley had been troubled enough in her short, short life. She'd also chosen to end that life, though even now Professor couldn't fathom why. Many times he asked himself whether it was best to respect her choice and leave her at peace.

He had many answers to that concern, but the most common was that if he could fix her, if he could make her better, that he would do everything in his power to make that happen. She was family.

"Hello, computer. Resume audio transcription. Subject G's primary response not improved. Stable vitals at T minus twelve seconds. Transition from unconsciousness at T minus forty-eight seconds. Degraded from screaming to her seizure state at T minus six minutes, twenty-two seconds. Cessation of movement at T minus seven minutes, forty-one seconds and full destabilization at T minus seven minutes, fifty-two seconds.

"Computer, please terminate and archive audio transcription."

Ching.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

[No Promise]

Blossom stirred in her sleep. It felt like she'd been drifting in and out for...how long, again?

Her eyelids opened the slightest bit, and some part of her registered the cold fluorescent lights of the basement.

 _The basement? Why am I sleeping in..._

Blossom's hand shot up to her head, or tried to. She opened her eyes fully and looked down, seeing a pair of straps run across her body and arms, a stark contrast to her light pink nightgown. Then she saw Professor, looking down at her with an awkward smile.

 _Oh no,_ she thought. _He probably thinks I tried to kill myself!_

"Professor, I can explain. I was just—"

Just what? How was she going to explain that she'd been trying to cut open her head so she could jam a piece of alien metal into it on a thin hope that some part of Buttercup could take over her body and be part of this life again?

"—just... Just forget it," she said, dropping her head back to the gurney and loosing a long, slow sigh.

Professor gently stroked her head. She flinched, then relaxed.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?"

"I'm...not in any pain. I... I wasn't trying to kill myself." _Except I kind of was, but for a good cause. That doesn't count, right?_

"I never thought it was anything that simple. You're a brave, strong girl. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was..." Blossom stopped here for a long, long time. Professor waited patiently. After several minutes, she spoke. "I was trying to help Buttercup."

"How so?" Professor asked.

"She's... She was... It's hard to explain. You...found it, right?"

Professor tilted his head to the side and pondered, asking, "Found what?"

Blossom had unintentionally broken it. Its beautiful, sleek, black tendrils shattered like glass against her head. No way had Professor not noticed it when he rescued her. In any case, there was no sense keeping it a secret any longer. Surely after that damage it was beyond saving. Buttercup was beyond saving.

Blossom began to tear up, blinking hard to push them away since she couldn't move her hand to wipe them.

"Honey. Sweetie. What's wrong?"

"I broke her. It. The thing that was stuck in her head. The thing that killed her."

Blossom was referring to a piece of exotic metal that had been part of a spacecraft. A shard of it had penetrated her sister's skull when she plowed through that ship. It had then reacted with the chemical X in her body and began to grow, winding through her brain.

"I grabbed it after the cremation. Before you found it. I just...I just wanted something. Something other than an empty bedroom. Something more than a hole where she used to be. Then she...in my dreams. I saw her. I saw her," she repeated more forcefully, as if countering an argument Professor had yet to make. "I know I wasn't making it up. When it was closer, and when it was still warm from the sun—"

"Calm down, Blossom. Take it slowly."

"I was trying to help her," Blossom said plaintively. "Honest."

Professor smiled softly. "I'm sure you were," he said. He began to unfasten her straps. "It's what you do best."

"So, you believe me? You don't think I'm going to...hurt myself again?"

Professor stopped just before unbuckling the last strap. "Do you?"

Blossom thought a moment, put on the kind of crinkled frown usually accompanied by tears, and shook her head. "No," she said weakly.

Professor loosed the last strap. Blossom promptly sat and up grabbed him, pulling him into a hug so tight that, even without her powers, it was almost painful. He returned it just as strongly.

"I'm sorry, daddy," she said.

"There, there... We'll make things right again."

"You should be with Bubbles," Blossom said. "She shouldn't be all alone in the hospital."

Unseen, Professor winced. Bubbles had passed some time after Blossom. Last Blossom had seen, Bubbles lay in a hospital bed in terrible pain. An attack by Mojo had grazed her eye and, up until the very end, it had been blinded.

"Bubbles is...out of the hospital." Professor released her. "Blossom, what I'm about to say may shock you. Will shock you. A lot more time has passed than you realize."

Her eyes widened. "Was I in a coma?"

Professor opened his mouth to respond, then snapped his shut and quirked his head for a moment as if considering it. Then he shook the stray thoughts from his head and explained. "I wish that were true. Blossom, for the last several months, you've been... Well, obviously you're fine now, but you... Well... You had passed away."

Blossom blinked her eyes rapidly. "I was _dead_? But...then...how? How did you bring me back?"

"A special serum I've been working on. Something to repair the damage and sort of...kick things off again."

"I... Wow. I don't feel any different," she said, running her hands over her body for emphasis.

Suddenly she looked up at him with excitement, realization dawning. Then, slowly, like a leaky balloon deflating, the excitement fell away. Whatever comment or question had come to her, she'd decided to keep to herself.

Suspecting what it was about, Professor admitted, "Every day, I've cursed myself for destroying Buttercup's body. I worried some crazy person would take it. Exploit her to do terrible things or create some mockery of the beautiful person she was. I couldn't let myself obsess over her and mire myself in death. But after losing my whole family...I suppose there was nothing holding me back any more."

 _Whole family?_ Blossom opened her mouth to speak and let it hang there. Unable to form a coherent question, eventually she simply asked, "Bubbles?"

Professor inhaled deeply, then let it out. "I'm afraid so."

This was a more delicate subject. While Professor was somewhat concerned about the events leading to Blossom's passing, he was more concerned for Bubbles. Blossom, it seemed, was depressed and in need of help, but still herself to the core. With Bubbles, he wondered if there was more to getting his daughter back than simply conquering death.

"But," he added, "I expect to give her the same treatment I gave you."

"How?" Blossom asked, almost inaudibly. It was clear she more wondered how Bubbles had departed than how she'd return.

"She got mixed up in some nasty business involving a superpowered serial murderer. That's behind us now."

"I feel sick," Blossom said. She massaged the inside of her elbow. The taps into her veins had been removed before her awakening, and the regenerative agent would have repaired any damage, but perhaps some wounds ran a bit deeper than Professor thought.

"I don't doubt it. You should feel better once your body settles into a natural rhythm again. Food. Sleep."

"Heh," Blossom said flatly. "Step by step, one day at a time? I guess that's par for the course now."

Professor frowned. In the time between Buttercup's passing and her own, Blossom had become extremely sullen and withdrawn. Last time, Professor had given her all the space he thought she needed.

He hugged her again. "To hell with normal." After releasing her, he said, "What do you say we revive Bubbles?"

Blossom nodded. "And...Ashley?"

"Ah... That's a fair question. You see, Blossom, Ashley hasn't responded so well to the treatments. I'm still not certain why."

"What do you mean 'not responded well?' And how long have you been treating us?"

"Well, the first steps were taken several months ago. As to her reactions... Well, at times you girls were semi-conscious. Half awake, talking in your sleep." Professor conveniently omitted the little detail that between trials the girls had fallen not into sleep, but back into death. "Her responses were less coherent and more violent.

"You do recall that she killed a purse snatcher with no idea she'd done anything wrong."

"She was too young to know better!" Blossom shot back.

"You girls always seemed to know better at her age. Furthermore, you do recall that she chose to take her own life. Blossom, it may simply be that Ashley is unstable. Not unlike Bunny so many years ago, but in a different way."

"Because I 'put death in her,'" Blossom said weakly, repeating a phrase Bubbles had shot at her. This had come after Ashley's troubles, and after Blossom revealed she used some of Buttercup's cremation ashes in the mix of sugar, spice, and everything nice.

Apparently that verbal jab had happened months ago, at the least, but to Blossom it was fresh as ever. It seemed the notion of time healing all wounds didn't apply to the dead. To Blossom.

"It could be any of a number of things, Blossom. There are reasons people don't go around creating little girls like you all the time—with or without giving them powers. Life is a miraculous thing, however it comes about. It's just that...some miracles are bigger than others."

Blossom relaxed some of the tenseness she'd unwittingly built up. Professor's words were small comfort, but comfort all the same.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to show me? Ashley, I mean."

"Well, I suppose I can't deny you a proper goodbye. We'll keep her safely locked away. Maybe someday we can try again."

"No, Professor. I mean show me what...what she's like."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Professor replied, reliving his own memories of the screaming, panting, grunting hostility that threatened to break him in two if she had even a fraction of her powers.

"Then prove it to me. If you're convinced we should let her rest in peace, can't you at least give me the same peace of mind you have?"

Blossom seemed very much her old self at that moment. In spite of the still-permanent loss of Buttercup. In spite of her own death. In spite of all that had happened. In the face of that, it was hard for Professor feel anything less than celebratory.

"Don't say I didn't warn you. You know, I'll be honest—it's given me nightmares."

This was true. Professor often spent late nights working on Project Rebreather, and what sleep he received was often overwhelmed with unpleasant or bizarre imagery. More than a few times, he'd woken up in a cold sweat, the imprint of Ashley's furious eyes seared into his mind and driven away only by the light of his bedside lamp.

Blossom briefly quirked an eyebrow at his admission.

"You're really sure about this?" he asked.

Blossom nodded.

"All right. For you."

"It won't...hurt her, right?"

Professor shook his head. "No more than it hurt you. She won't remember a thing, either. Like when someone wakes you in the middle of the night and you fall asleep a few minutes later. It'll seem like a dream, if she remembers it at all."

"Really? How many times has that happened to me before today?"

Professor winced. He'd forgotten how sharp she could be at times. "Just a few," he said vaguely.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

[Tears of Ashes]

Professor had wheeled out Ashley and Bubbles. He noted that Blossom seemed a bit unnerved by the sight, and clasped her wrist awkwardly. Probably trying to check her own pulse without being obvious about it.

He sighed. He trusted his girls, in spite of everything, and generally believed honesty was best. Bubbles, perhaps, was a special case.

Still, telling them they'd somehow been asleep all this time was a tempting fairy tale, even if there were issues with that fiction. For one, the world knew they were dead. In particular, Professor had confided in Sara Bellum often enough that no flimsy excuse would stand up to her scrutiny. He wasn't sure she'd be party to a lie so big.

Not that it mattered, as it was too late to take back what he'd told Blossom. She was alive again, and that was all that mattered. They could get through anything else together. They were stronger together.

"Last chance," Professor offered.

Blossom steeled herself and nodded. Eyes fixed on Ashley, Blossom's face was very still, like someone posing for a very old camera.

Professor prepared three needles. One held the regenerative agent, another Antidote X, and the last a sedative. He didn't bother with most of the monitoring equipment, instead putting only a pulse monitor on her finger. After injecting her with the first two hypodermics, he held the sedative.

"This will put her back to sleep so she can pass peacefully. The regenerative agent needs a nutrient mix delivered over the course of an hour to enable a proper recovery. Without it, the body will overexert itself and she'll...slip away. Painlessly, even without the sedative."

Blossom nodded curtly, her eyes not straying from Ashley. Though Ashley had only graced their lives for two days, Blossom's feeling of attachment was strong. Blossom may or may not have been quite old enough to bear a child of her own, but she certainly wasn't old enough to be a proper mother. But that didn't seem to have stopped Ashley from clinging to her like one. And Blossom, ever eager to accept responsibilities and live up to expectations, certainly felt very invested right now.

Not long after Professor finished speaking, Ashley started to stir. As she had so many times before, she struggled to lift her eyelids and pull herself from a darkness deeper than Professor had ever known. He stood behind her, out of her immediate sight.

Ashley lifted her head, looking directly at Blossom. Blossom gasped and put her hands over her mouth. Professor braced himself for the onslaught.

"Mommy?" Ashley asked timidly. "Mommy?" again. She sounded like a lost child finally found, or a child having awoken from a nightmare and seeking comfort. "Mommy!" she screamed, struggling against her bonds. Her cries and her struggles were not angry or violent, but wholly and utterly desperate. Her hands stretched out as far as the straps would allow, grasping for Blossom.

"Mommy! Mommy, please! Mommy!" Ashley cried and cried. The heart monitor spiked. Professor glanced at it, then at the sedative in his hand. Her heart rate was climbing towards 120 beats per minute.

Blossom ran to Ashley's side and grasped one of her hands. Ashley started crying weakly, muttering her litany of "mommy"s and "mommy, please"s instead of screaming it.

"Do something!" Blossom pleaded. "Help her!"

"I—this—" Professor stammered, completely at a loss.

Blossom let go of Ashley's hand and began unfastening the straps that bound her.

"Bloss— No! Wait!" Professor said, feeling hamstrung. Could he just step in and put Ashley to sleep? Would Blossom ever stand for that? Would she ever forgive him for that?

But was it safe to let her free?

Ashley sat up as soon as she was able and flung her arms around Blossom. "Mommy, I was so scared. I was afraid I'd never see you again."

"There, there," Blossom croaked, patting and stroking her bare back. Professor hadn't intended to bring her back permanently, and hadn't dressed her in a gown as he'd done Blossom and Bubbles. "It's gonna be all right now. Professor has to give you more medicine so you'll be better."

Ashley spun her head around, fixing her gaze on Professor. She grasped Blossom more strongly, as if wanting to disappear safely inside her.

"Ssh," Blossom cooed. "Just lay down. Do it for Blossom, okay? Do it for mommy?"

Ashley frowned deeply, but complied. Blossom pulled the flimsy blanket, which did little against the cool basement air, up to her neck.

Professor, still very much in shock, fumbled with the drip bag he'd intended to hook up to Bubbles. "I'll need her arm."

Ashley and Blossom looked at each other, smiling. Blossom gently rubbed Ashley's stomach and chest with her palm, and the improvised massage seemed to sooth her. Or maybe it was just the comfort of her mother's doting. In either case, her heart rate was down to normal.

Blossom rearranged the blanket to expose one of Ashley's arms. "Professor needs to help you rest for a little while." Ashley was crestfallen again, but Blossom said, "Just a short nap. I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise."

Professor stood beside them, sedative in hand. Ashley scowled slightly at him.

She looked so like Buttercup, especially in that moment. It was easy to forget she was someone else. So often, Buttercup had worn that scowl—at him, at her sisters, at her enemies, and occasionally even at her homework.

Ashley extended her arm slightly, keeping her stern gaze on Professor. It was a gesture that seemed to say "truce" more than "trust."

Professor smiled pleasantly at her, honestly happy to see she was doing wildly better than his initial expectations. Even Blossom and Bubbles needed more than a few minutes to achieve the appearance of lucidity. "This might sting just a tiny bit," he warned.

Ashley flinched, but if he'd blinked he'd have missed it.

"Such a good girl," Blossom cooed. Ashley turned her attention back to Blossom and smiled again. Unlike Buttercup, Ashley tended to be very clingy. Blossom and Bubbles both had enjoyed the bulk of that. When the four of them weren't together, Professor busied himself with the various phone calls and paperwork required to bring a new life into the world. He and Ashley never enjoyed any one-on-one time.

Professor wheeled the drip bag closer and tapped her vein once more. By that time, she'd already fallen asleep.

"I'm so sorry," Professor said. "I had no idea. She was always screaming and fighting like a madman."

"She was just afraid," Blossom said softly, pulling herself away.

"I'm happy you didn't just take my word for things," Professor continued. "I feel... Well, awful."

Blossom shook her head gently. "It wasn't your fault. You still saved her."

"I think today, you're the one that saved her."

"We saved her, then. Together."

Blossom's smile was enough to melt his heart. He hadn't seen that smile in...he couldn't even remember how long. Not since before Buttercup's passing.

A surge of hope washed down the awful feelings preceding and following Ashley's revival. Professor strode over to the back wall and pulled another drip bag from a shelf. "Well, looks like in another hour, we'll be waking both of them up."

"Anything I can help with?"

"Um... Actually, yes. Can you—carefully—refasten Ashley's straps? We wouldn't want her to injure herself."

"If you say so," Blossom said. She wasn't certain of the need, but remembered that she herself had been strapped down when she awoke. Maybe it was simple fear of rolling off the gurney, or flailing in panic when she awoke.

After Professor finished preparing Bubbles, he turned to Blossom and said, "Why don't we run upstairs for a bit. You can get dressed, find some clothes for Ashley, and we can...well, maybe we can have a little talk before your sisters wake up."

"Sure," Blossom said. She lurched to the side, intending to take flight. After she recovered her balance, she remembered her powers were gone.

"Professor, exactly why are my powers gone?" she asked.

"Just a precaution. It's nothing but Antidote X. We'll fix that later, after I've had a few days to monitor your condition and confirm it stable. I haven't had much opportunity to measure anyone's responses with their powers intact, because there was too much risk one of you would do something dangerous while you were still half-asleep."

Asleep.

They walked up the stairs together. Blossom slipped into her room on the first floor, just past the living room. Professor leaned against the open doorway, back turned to her room while she dressed herself.

"I need you to make a few promises for me, Blossom. Can I ask you to do that?"

"Um, sure, Professor."

"First—and this is important—you and your sisters need to stay inside. Don't contact anyone. Don't e-mail anyone. Don't text anyone. Remember that the world thinks the three of you are dead, and has believed this for the better part of a year. We need to decide how we're going to approach things. Honestly, my first thought has been for you girls, and I'll admit I haven't thought much farther than that. I'm sure Miss Bellum will be furious with me. Ecstatic at the news, but furious all the same."

"I can manage that. I'll keep the others in check."

"Second, I need you to promise me, personally, that you will come to me if you start getting weird notions in your head."

"I don't think that'll be a problem anymore," Blossom said confidently, voice briefly muffled by her shirt. "It's a promise."

"Great. And now... Blossom, can I trust you with a very important secret?"

He jumped, startled, when Blossom poked him in the back to let him know she was dressed. He turned around to face her.

"What's that, Professor?" she asked. She had traded her gown for a pair of bluejeans and a pink t-shirt. Despite the familiar clothes, her extremely short, ragged hair made her look so different.

Taking a few moments to gather this thoughts and, more importantly, his resolve, Professor explained. "In your absence, Bubbles's mental state degenerated terribly. She became a slave to her fears and lashed out at a lot of people. I was so busy secretly working on a way to bring you and Ashley back to life that I didn't notice Bubbles slipping away from me.

"Blossom, sit with me for a moment," he said, slipping past her to sit on the corner of her bed. She sat nearby. "Bubbles...took on a secret identity. You might hear about someone called 'the Harvester.' This was Bubbles, and nobody in the whole world knows except for you and me."

"What did she do? Is that how she ran into the serial killer?"

Professor shook his head. "My statement was misleading. Intentionally. I was planning on handling this myself. But, seeing your strength and resolve again, I wonder if maybe that's not the best way to do things. You see, Blossom, Bubbles—the Harvester— _was_ the super-powered serial killer."

Blossom's eyes and mouth widened in shock, but she said nothing.

"I've been taking advantage of her half-conscious state to apply some hypnotic techniques I've studied up on. Trying to suppress her memories following Mojo Jojo's attack. I...struggled with this decision. Considered the alternatives. In the end, Blossom... I'm afraid. Afraid for her. Maybe even a little afraid of her.

"You see, the Harvester is known to have killed most of the Gangreen Gang. Various ordinary citizens, albeit seemingly guilty of something or another. And—this I find most disturbing—Princess Morbucks. In the end, Princess became an important friend to Bubbles. Being a bright spot in Princess's life was a bright spot in Bubbles's life. But Princess was also killed by the Harvester.

"Later, E-Male and Sedusa teamed up, under Miss Bellum's direction, in an effort to stop the Harvester. I was there to see it, Blossom. I noticed Bubbles wasn't sleeping in her bed and I feared the worst. Well, the worst I could imagine at the time. I drove over as fast as I could, fearing that Bubbles was going to confront the Harvester and either get hurt or do something she'd regret.

"I arrived just in time to see the Harvester kill E-Male. Kill a superhero. Then she did in Sedusa, and suddenly I realized I was alone in that warehouse with a murderer. And Bubbles was nowhere in sight.

"I left my hiding place, spraying the Harvester in the eyes with that Antidote X dispenser I keep on me for emergencies. And then he...she...Bubbles lost her balance. Fell off a catwalk."

"Oh no," Blossom said. The first sound she'd been able to make in some time.

"I was shocked. In many ways, I still am. And honestly, while I'm thrilled to death to see Ashley doing so well, I'm afraid for her as I am for Bubbles. I know this is a lot to put on you, Blossom, but I need you to help me keep an eye on both of them. Let me know if they behave oddly. I need you to help be the rock this family needs right now."

Blossom waited for these revelations to sink in. Eventually, she said, "You can count on me, Professor. They can count on me."

"And you and they both can count on me. I think we need to be strong for each other. I believe our family can survive, even without Buttercup. But only if we lean on each other."

Blossom scooted across the bed and hugged him. "I'm scared, Professor."

"Me, too, sweetie. Me, too."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

[Torn Angelus]

Properly dressed, Blossom didn't mind returning to the cooler basement air. She and Professor sat in chairs and chattered idly while they waited. For Professor it was like a dream come true, but for Blossom it felt more like relaxing after a long, stressful ordeal.

Memories of her losses were still strong. Her other "recent" experiences were a blur, largely because she had spent them re-reading old books, hiding in her bedroom, and simply existing. It was little wonder, as she considered it, that those days felt like a dream.

They kept their conversation limited to small things, often inconsequential. Professor only shared that there was no significant news in the world. Bubbles's activities as the Harvester made a big splash, but there was little to speak of after that. For him, Project Rebreather had been the dream he was only now waking from. If not for occasionally speaking to the computer, the silence might have been maddening.

"It's almost time," Professor said.

"Should we dress Ashley before we wake her up?"

"I suppose. It's not like we have to wake her up immediately after removing her I.V."

So they busied themselves with that before Professor prepared two injections to counteract the sedatives. He injected Ashley first, leaving Blossom to hold her hand and wait.

Bubbles blinked and squinted her eyes. She seemed tired. In the days leading up to her death, Professor believed she'd been receiving very little sleep. While Blossom's half-conscious state had been a semi-lucid delirium, Bubbles generally sounded more like she was talking in her sleep.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"In the basement," Professor replied. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Blossom and Ashley whispered behind him. He heard Blossom loosing the straps, and did not stop her.

"I... I was... I don't remember."

"Think carefully, Bubbles. We were in space."

"That was a while ago. Buttercup... Then we came home. Ashley... Mojo. My eye. Blossom. All that stuff with the Harvester." She seemed struck by sadness, continuing, "Princess. I couldn't sleep anymore."

"Do you remember what happened to the Harvester?" Professor asked.

Bubbles shook her head. "I think, maybe... You and the others were making a trap for him?"

Professor nodded. "Do you remember ever seeing the Harvester?"

Again she shook her head.

"Bubbles, what I'm about to say may alarm you, but Blossom and Ashley are alive again." He moved slightly so she had an unobstructed view. Bubbles seemed suddenly wide awake. Professor noted a look of confusion, surprise, and some negative emotion he couldn't place.

"Woah, hey there," Blossom said gently, laughing slightly. It sounded like a very gentle scolding, directed at Ashley rather than Bubbles.

Bubbles tried to move her arm and noticed the straps.

"Oh, let me get those for you," Professor said. "Just in case you had a bout of panic when you woke up. Bubbles, I have some good news and some bad news. The Harvester is gone, but you were fatally injured in the process. Do you remember going to the warehouse where we'd laid the trap?"

"No," Bubbles said, perhaps not quite sure this wasn't a dream.

Blossom giggled. Bubbles again turned her head, and Professor saw something like her previous blend of expressions. "And what do you mean fatally?"

Before Professor could confirm her fears, he was interrupted by a scream behind him. Stopping with one strap left to remove, he turned to see Ashley recoiling and pushing Blossom away. Ashley's lower lip stretched forward, into Blossom's teeth.

Ashley twisted away, falling to the floor and toppling the gurney. She clamored to her feet and ran upstairs, her crying muffled by the hand she held over her bleeding lip.

Blossom giggled again, her smile revealing blood clinging to her teeth. As Professor watched in horror, her giggles degenerated into sobs. She slumped to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chin, as she continued sobbing.

"Professor, what's wrong with her?" Bubbles asked.

Professor spun around again, mouth flapping wordlessly. Before he could reply, he heard a loud, hollow banging sound. Behind him he saw Blossom, still crying, banging her head against the cabinet behind her.

"Professor, what's going on?" Bubbles demanded more urgently, shouting to be heard over the reverberating metal bangs. She was struggling against her bonds, trying to slide along the gurney and awkwardly twist her elbow to reach the last buckle.

"Just a minute," Professor said, for the moment thinking it best to leave her tied down. Inside, he panicked. Were his efforts premature? Doomed?

"Talk to me," Professor said, gently as he could muster. He knelt before Blossom and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Blossom, please tell me what's wrong," he requested, shaking her shoulder gently.

She continued banging her head, eyes closed, twin trails of tears running down her face.

"Blossom!" Professor shouted.

Blossom opened her eyes and stopped banging her head. For a few moments, she looked at him with a mild expression of confusion. Then scrunched up her face, whined, and started banging her head even more forcefully.

"Get me off this damned table!" Bubbles shouted angrily at him. Professor turned around to see her still struggling, looking extremely frustrated and concerned.

"Just a moment," Professor requested. He leaped to his feet and grabbed another fresh hypodermic, filling it with his preferred sedative. Blossom's arms wouldn't unwrap from her legs. Sighing and grunting in frustration, Professor injected her thigh instead.

Professor threw the needle in the waste bin and went over to help Bubbles out of her straps. What else could he do? He didn't have the heart to leave her there, terrified and confused. How would she react to him trying to sedate her as well, for that matter?

As he helped her out of her bonds, Blossom's pounding was starting to slow. As soon as Bubbles was free, she gracefully rolled of her gurney and backed up against the wall, staring at Blossom with a mixture of disgust and horror. Blossom had stopped crying, and was now babbling, though it was hard to hear over the slow banging.

"What is wrong with her? And what happened to me? Did I die? Am I dead?"

"You're not dead," Professor said sternly, walking closer with his hands held up. "I've been working on bringing Blossom and Ashley back to life. I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't want to worry you or get your hopes up."

"But I was dead?"

Professor nodded. One slow, firm gesture. Behind him, he heard Blossom clearly now that the banging had stopped. Her voice was weak, but she kept repeating the phrase, "Full moon. Full moon. Full moon."

Bubbles eyed her sister warily. "What is she saying? 'Full moon?' What does that mean?"

"I—I don't know. Bubbles, please, could you watch over your sister? I need to check on Ashley."

"Is—is this going to happen to us?" Bubbles asked, doing an admirable but not perfect job of masking her fear.

"Watch your sister," Professor called out, jogging up the stairs.

Thankfully, he found Ashley not far outside the basement door. She sat on the kitchen floor in the same position Blossom had sat downstairs.

She looked up when he appeared, then seemed to shrink into herself. Professor grabbed several paper towels, wet one under the faucet, and knelt beside Ashley.

"Can I take a look?"

"Don't hurt me," Ashley said, not looking up.

"Ashley, darling, why would I want to hurt you? I just want to take a look at your lip."

She didn't offer herself up, but didn't struggle when Professor gently moved her arms aside and turned her head up. She winced and sucked in a breath when he dabbed at the wound with the wet cloth.

"That doesn't look good," Professor said. He'd barely wiped any blood away, but it was clear that it was still seeping from the bite. He assumed it was bad inside the lip as well. "Here," he said, handing her the dry paper towels. "I can give you a special shot to make it better."

"Doesn't matter," she said, clutching the paper towels in her fist but not using them. "We're all going to die."

"Why do you say that?" Professor said, genuinely curious. While he'd pried a great deal of useful information out of Blossom and Bubbles in their half-aware stupors, Ashley had remained a closed book in spite of all the questions he had about her behavior and reasoning. "Why do you think you're going to die?"

She met his eyes with the seriousness of a soldier and the gravity of an equal. "Because you're trying to help us."

Professor found his throat dry as he tried to swallow. "I'm trying to help you live, not die."

"You're not making any sense." Ashley pulled up her knees again, pressing the crumpled wad of power towel against her lip and staring at the floor.

Professor sighed and shook his head. "I'm going to check on your mommy. Will you be okay while I'm gone? Do you want to come with me?"

No response.

Professor once more sighed and shook his head, then plodded downstairs. Alone.

Blossom was slumped on the floor, sleeping peacefully. He didn't immediately see Bubbles, but she was still here. Standing in front of the sink, staring in the mirror. She was pulling down on her cheek, examining her fully-healed right eye.

"Bubbles?" Professor asked cautiously. "Is everything okay?"

"Blossom's asleep," Bubbles replied. Leaving the mirror, she said, "You never answered me. Is that going to happen to me?"

"I don't know," Professor answered honestly. "But everything will be all right. I'll fix it. I'll fix all of you."

"What's going to happen to her?"

"I'd like to attach some monitoring equipment and find out. Ashley's upstairs in the kitchen. After you help me get Blossom up, she could use some company."

"Sure," Bubbles said. Her tone had a harsh edge he wasn't used to, but it didn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular. She helped Professor with the grim task of putting the unconscious Blossom on a gurney. Professor immediately pulled off her shirt, attaching the hairnet-like neural sensor and other equipment.

Bubbles went upstairs very briefly, returning hand-in-hand with Ashley. The two sat quietly in the same chairs he and Blossom had waited in.

Eventually, he spoke. "Her vitals are completely stable. Her neural activity looks...normal. For an unconscious person."

"Wake her up," Bubbles suggested. Or perhaps ordered.

"Is that okay with you, Ashley?" Professor asked.

She stared at her feet and shrugged.

"Do it," Bubbles said.

Professor nodded. He wanted answers as well. He heaved a sigh as he filled yet another hypodermic. He still had five empties left, but he'd gone through way more than expected in the last hour or two. Equally disconcerting was the amount of chemicals he'd already pumped into Blossom today. Not that he suspected those were to blame, but her body was a delicate place right now.

Blossom stirred, slowly at first. Then reality fell upon her fully. "Professor, I can explain! I was just—just... Just forget it," she said, dropping her head back to the gurney and loosing a long, slow sigh.

Somehow this seemed familiar to Professor. Before he could think too deeply, however, Blossom noticed Bubbles and Ashley out of the corner of her eye.

"Ashley!" Blossom said. "You're okay? But...how?"

Seeming to notice Professor for the first time again, Blossom turned her attention to him. "Professor, I can explain! I was..." She giggled. "Just... Just..."

Blossom whimpered and started crying again.

"Blossom, stay with me. Blossom,"

"I'm sorry, Professor. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what? Blossom, look at me."

"She's all gone, now. Gone, gone, gone."

"Blossom!" Professor shouted sharply, hoping to again startle her into paying attention. It worked. Briefly.

She "reset" again. "Professor! I—I—I can... I can... I can't. I... Professor, I'm so sorry."

Fighting back tears, Professor seemed to swallow them up bitterly. He steeled his expression before turning around.

"How long?" Bubbles asked. "How long do we have?"

Professor considered telling them that there was no guarantee they'd suffer a similar fate. That perhaps there was something he could do to stop it before then. But he knew, at best, that he'd find answers after a long time studying Blossom's sensor data.

He checked his watch. "Maybe an hour. A little less."

"And then what?"

Ashley answered. "Then we die again. Then we can be together again."

Professor tilted his head. "Ashley, do you...remember being with Blossom and Bubbles after you...passed out?"

"I remember," she said. "I remember Buttercup, too. I remember us together at the train station. In the pretty forest."

Bubbles shook her head and told Professor, "I don't remember any of that."

"You will," Ashley said.

"Is this why you tied us down?" Bubbles asked. "Have we done this before?"

"No. Never. Never a full awakening."

Bubbles looked at the blood-soaked power towels in Ashley's hand, and at the blood staining her pastel green shirt. "Maybe you should tie us down again after all."

Ashley immediately hopped to her feet and walked over to the empty gurney. "Help me up?" she asked. Bubbles lifted her awkwardly. Professor, happy the suggestion hadn't come from him and that the girls weren't putting up a fuss, went to fetch the third gurney.

"Promise to protect us?" Ashley asked Bubbles while Professor went into the inner lab, out of earshot.

She smiled back. "Pinkie promise." She held up her digit, and they wrapped them around each other. Leaning close for a whisper, she added, "And if Blossom ever gets kissy again, you tell her to stop and you come let me know, okay?"

Ashley gave Bubbles a disapproving look. "But I need her to remember me when he makes her forget."

Professor interrupted the whispered conversation, "Do you need help with the straps?"

"No," Bubbles replied, quickly working them. To Ashley, "I promise, if we ever wake up again, I'll keep us all safe. How's that sound?"

"Pinkie promise," Ashley reminded her.

"Pinkie promise," Bubbles agreed, patting her on the chest. "Okay, Professor."

"You're okay with this?" he asked after she hopped onto her gurney and adjusted her gown.

"I'm scared out of my mind," she whispered. "But we can't let that stop us, right?"

"I promise I'll make things right. Cross my heart and hope to die," he replied.

"Good," Ashley added from her own gurney.

"I know, dad," Bubbles said. "And...if you can't... Just remember, we all love you and want you to be happy. You can give the world nice things other than us."

Professor grasped her hand. "Thanks for that."

They lay in silence. Professor knew the best way to monitor their conditions was to keep them engaged in conversation, but he was far too tired for that. Night was many hours away, but he was utterly spent in every other regard.

Occasionally, he'd ask how they were doing. The rest of the time, he poured over Blossom's readings, pretending to try to decipher them. In reality, his mind was spinning round and round, getting nowhere.

Eventually, he heard Bubbles curse.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Bubbles didn't respond. She just spat out a slew of swears in several languages, sometimes sending spittle soaring as she did so.

Professor sighed wearily and prepared a sedative. Bubbles thrashed when he tried to hold her arm steady, but she soon faded away.

"Ashley, sweetie, are you okay?"

She didn't respond. Professor visited her and, at first, couldn't tell if she was bored or catatonic. He tried snapping his fingers, calling to her, and even gently shaking her shoulder.

Soon, he put her to sleep as well.

Professor again sat and stared at the readings, wrestling with a decision. Eventually, he made up his mind. For all he knew, his hesitation was causing irreparable brain damage.

He blinked the budding moisture from his eyes so he could find a vein, giving Blossom yet another injection. This one stopped her heart and other activity as gently as possible. Soon, they were all gone again.

"Next time," he vowed. "Hello, computer. Resume audio transcription."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

[Gray Afternoon]

The following morning, Professor revived the girls again. Only briefly, and without full consciousness. The same as the earliest trials.

Professor found no change in Blossom or Bubbles's half-awake behaviors. Further, they didn't seem to have any recollection of their time spent conscious. Blossom, in particular, seemed to have no idea what "full moon" meant. At least, he wasn't able to coax anything out of her stream-of-consciousness responses.

This led him to consider exploring memory itself, wondering whether it was a symptom or a cause. Perhaps the inability to form new long-term memories had caused the mania. His enthusiasm for this theory was slightly dampened by Ashley's new behavior.

Unlike the other girls, there was a marked change in her short-term trials. Professor was thus far unable to pinpoint a reason for it, but was happy she no longer seemed full of rage and hate. Unfortunately, anger was simply replaced by a different extreme emotional state.

Ashley was still uncooperative and unresponsive to questioning. In fact, she seemed largely unaware of his presence. She simply writhed and cried, shaking her head as if refusing something. It was almost as if she were having a nightmare from which she couldn't wake.

Professor pondered and jotted down notes while sipping coffee. Ashley's form lay still on her gurney, and there was no rush to return her to the small inner lab area with the other girls. Prior to the "big revival," Ashley had been full of rage. Later, she was convincingly lucid from the moment her eyes first opened. Now, she seemed less present than she had before the whole mess. Why?

His reverie was interrupted by the furious ringing of the doorbell. The sound startled him, and as he jerked his hand he sent a small splash of coffee over his notes. Cursing under his breath, he zipped over to Ashley's gurney to store her and then realized she was still connected to the monitoring equipment. Cursing again, he tried and failed to gather his thoughts in the face of the repeated ringing of the bell.

He ran up the stairs, closing the laboratory door behind himself and running to the front door. He peered through the peephole, wondering who insisted on making such a rude appearance.

It was Mister Morbucks. Princess's father.

Professor's eyes widened, overcome with sudden concern. They were not close. Not friends. But they shared something. Professor had last seen him the morning of Princess's death, and both fathers understood the loss each had suffered, as few others would.

He unlocked the door and flung it open, only now seeing the ostentatious black limousine taking up a swathe of street as long as his house was wide. A driver stood patiently beside it, but Morbucks alone stood at Professor's doorway. Briefly.

"Mister Morbucks," Professor greeted breathlessly. He'd intended to further ask what was the matter, but no sooner had he opened the door than Morbucks barged inside, closing the door behind them.

"Did you know?" he asked dangerously.

"Kn—know what?" Professor stammered. Surprised by the brazen entrance, he'd barely backed up enough for Morbucks to enter. Now he took a few more steps back, finding the man's puffy red face closer than was comfortable.

Morbucks sighed, some small measure of anger diminishing. "Your daughter. Bubbles. Did you know she was a murderer?"

"Wh—what?" Professor stammered again. Between his initial worry, subsequent surprise, and current fear, he held his eyes so wide for so long that it was a wonder they didn't just fall out.

"I didn't want to believe it at first. I suspected. Oh, believe me I did." Morbucks strode past Professor, pacing back and forth behind the living room couch with great thumping sounds the carpet barely managed to dull. "My people found a drink bottle in my dead daughter's room. With faint traces of your Bubbles's blood. Now, how it got there I couldn't fathom. Yes, blood sometimes mingled with her tears, but what on earth was there to cry about? And how'd it get _in there_?

"Or that Princess's personal assistant Ruby passed away so soon after? A supposed texting and driving accident from a woman so...so..." He sighed again. "So precise. So...Ruby." The fires were quickly stoked again, as if they'd never diminished. "Along with one of my daughter's laboratory staff, Kevan van der Schmidt. He was an ambitious man, but surely the loss of my daughter and thus his position on her payroll was no setback worthy of suicide. Do you know what he was investigating in the weeks before his death?"

Professor shook his head, afraid to speak.

"Mojo Jojo. One day, my daughter gets it in her head to have her people investigate his disappearance, then she shuts down everything and Kevan's salary doubles. She then orders her people to destroy so much of the equipment they had researched and developed over the years—power suits, weapons, battle vehicles. And with an inordinate amount of haste. And then—then—do you know what happened then? She invited _your_ daughter over for a slumber party.

"And do you know what else we found?"

Again Professor could only shake his head, this time swallowing a lump in this throat as well.

"Forensics show my daughter was strangled to death. Before she was cut—practically ravaged. The blood, you see," he said with some significance and a calm that was unnerving in the aftermath of his ire. "It seeped. Not pumped. Seeped. And on her throat were bruises. The kind left by hands. Small hands."

For several uncomfortable seconds, only Morbucks's breath could be heard, pumping through his nose like bellows. "And I still refused to consider it. In any case, by then your daughter was dead, wasn't she? Even if she were responsible, even if she were the Harvester, what good would it do now? Either way the Harvester is dead, isn't that so? Although no body has been found."

Mr. Morbuck's adjusted his suit. His rage had been replaced with stern calm. "In fact, there has been no public service for any of the girls who died under your care. Public media spectacles, to be sure." Professor involuntarily flinched, his face hardening against this assault on his grief. "But no visitations. No crying mourners at the caskets. The first burned to ash before you set foot in Townsville. The rest— God only knows. No record. Handled privately. When I asked my people to look into this yesterday, it didn't take long to make note of that."

He stepped closer. Dangerously closer. "Where is she? Where are they?"

Professor's face was firm. He blinked slowly. "My girls—my precious, precious girls—are dead Mister Morbucks. I think it best you leave now."

"I'm sure you do. And I think it best you not play me for a fool any longer, Professor Utonium. I am a very powerful man. And you, it seems, are not. Unless, of course, you admit to continuing to play god in your basement?"

"The results of my research are frequently published in several respected scientific journals. I could recommend a few subscriptions if you'd like to keep abreast."

Morbucks didn't reply. Instead, he shouldered past Professor, taking great, confident strides towards the basement door.

"Hey! Stop! You can't go down there. You have no right!" Professor followed after. Morbucks was already pounding down the stairs before Professor could so much as grab at his shoulder.

Morbucks slowed only after reaching the floor. He walked, cautiously now, towards Ashley's gurney.

"Is this her?" he asked, not even turning to face Professor. "Her voice did sound so small. So young."

"Her voice?" Professor asked, searching around the room in desperation. Sadly, he wasn't Mojo. His laboratory was not laden with traps and concealed weapons. Or any weapons, really.

"I received a call yesterday. Very strange. A small child told me 'she killed her,' and hung up. Just three little words."

"A prank call?" Professor said, walking past Morbucks and standing a respectable distance away.

"Nobody has that number. It has its own dialing prefix. Nobody outside the last three U.S. Presidents, Rupert, and the Pope have that number. And do I even need to say where that call came from?"

Professor was silent. He leaned against the counter, hands on the counter top behind him, trying to appear casual.

"I thought not. So tell me, Professor. Where is she?"

Professor drew a long, unsteady breath. Only after an uncomfortable silence, after Mr. Morbucks finally faced him, did he answer. "In there," he said, nodding towards the door to the inner lab. "Dead. Dead, but I'm trying. You understand, don't you? Would you do any less for Princess?"

"Indeed. I understand. And given the circumstances, you understand why I can't allow this to continue."

Professor sighed and closed his eyes. After a moment, Mr. Morbucks stepped around the gurney, towards the inner lab.

Professor quickly slipped behind him. Mr. Morbucks turned in response to the sound of sudden movement, but it did little good. Professor stuck the needle into his torso and pushed. "And you understand why I can't be stopped now."

Professor delivered his statement uncontested. Morbucks batted away Professor's hand, but the gesture became feeble in the span of a few heartbeats. Professor wrestled awkwardly with Morbucks's dead weight, lowering him to the ground as gently as he could.

Professor ransacked his own lab for a few extra needles, simultaneously rummaging through his mind. Wondering how quickly he could rush a little deep hypnosis.

* * *

The driver watched Mr. Morbucks emerge from the house, looking much calmer than he had entered. He and Professor Utonium exchanged some words he couldn't hear, then the two men gave each other a quick hug and pat on the back.

Professor earnestly shook one of Mr. Morbucks's hands, holding it in both of his. Morbucks patted Professor on the shoulder with his free hand and nodded. When he turned and headed towards the limousine, the driver noted he was smiling.

The driver dutifully opened the car door as his boss approached.

"Home," Morbucks said simply.

The driver nodded, closing the door and rushing around to take the driver's seat. He wasn't certain what the point of this trip had been, or what the cause of the agitation had been. It wasn't his place to ask questions.

* * *

Professor heaved a sigh of relief once he was alone in his house. Even so, his heart still pounded. Mr. Morbucks would be returning tomorrow, though only Professor knew it was for a more extended hypnosis session.

His legs seemed barely able to carry his weight as he shuffled into the kitchen. Along the way, he stopped, staring at the wall-mounted telephone. He glanced at the floor nearby, where Ashley had sat after running up the stairs, nursing a bleeding lip.

Professor picked up the phone, ignoring the dial tone. Examining it carefully, he noticed a small dab of dried blood on the edge of the mouthpiece.

Grunting softly, he thought of how many times the girls had teased him about having a landline in the days where everyone and their dog had a cell phone. Maybe it was time to get rid of it.

Downstairs, Professor planted his hands on Ashley's gurney, supporting himself as he stared down at her. Still. Inert. Dead. Utterly gone.

Yet somehow he felt her presence. Lingering somewhere just beyond sight and sensation. Looming.

"She couldn't have known," Professor said, muttering. Ashley had come and gone before the Harvester even existed, let alone killed Princess. "They were all acting strangely."

The words were comforting. The lingering uncertainty regarding how Ashley had apparently managed to dial a number known by only a handful of people was not.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

[Remembrance]

Professor made inroads in his understanding of memory itself. He began suspecting that the girls' capacities to form new memories had been broken following their untimely deaths. Further, some failure in the memory encoding process managed to corrupt their "mental chalkboard," causing the psychosis he'd seen them develop.

That Bubbles had received his hypnotic suggestions in her half-awake state was confusing, but also a promising lead. That early on, the regenerative agent was flowing in full force. Although her mental state was not fully lucid at that stage, he was apparently able to have some lasting impact. This gave him something to aim at.

Unfortunately, the only way he could think to test any potential solution was a full awakening. The regenerative agent needed time to fully jump start the brain, beyond the half-aware state of his short-term experiments. Except, of course, for Ashley's singular exception on that eventful day.

Professor decided it was best to start small. After some careful consideration, he decided to make Ashley his first attempt. He told himself it was not because he cared for her less, or that the risk of permanent brain damage to Blossom or Bubbles worried him more, but because he needed to connect with Ashley. Without the distraction of Blossom or Bubbles, he hoped to find some explanation for her stranger behaviors. And if Ashley could learn anything, remember anything, he wanted it to be that he loved her.

He intended to keep close watch over Ashley and, later, the other girls. Yet, Professor did make some reasonable changes to the house. Cutting off his landline telephone. Locking the old hotline phone in a safe in his bedroom—he was afraid to pick up the hotline and see whether it was still connected to Mayor's office or not, but better to be safe. Disconnecting the internal wireless antenna on Blossom's laptop. Putting a hard cutoff switch on the family computer's Internet connection. And, finally, changing all the locks on the exterior doors. Whether outside or within, they'd require a key to get through.

If there was a chance that any of the girls would reach a psychotic state while he was unable to fully monitor them, it was better for everyone that they be confined to their home, where he could safely tend to them however possible.

And if someone tried to contact the outside world again, hopefully they would fail. Heaven forbid someone should tip off Ms. Bellum. Professor couldn't imagine what he would have done. He certainly couldn't hypnotize her as he'd done Mr. Morbucks. That was dreadful enough and remained a source of deep regret. But, surely, in the end it would all be worth it. He would have his girls, and the world would have its heroes.

He sighed. It helped to think happy thoughts once in a while, down here in the cold, windowless, florescent-lit basement.

He gave Ashley her final injection and waited. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open and settled on him.

"Professor?" she asked quietly.

He smiled, relieved beyond measure. "Yes, sweetie. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I... I don't know. Funny stuff. Bubbles says they're just dreams."

Professor knew Bubbles and Ashley hadn't spoken much during their last full awakening, and concluded Ashley was remembering things from before her death.

"I see. And what were you dreaming about?"

Ashley pulled lightly against the straps, gazing lazily upon them and seeming unperturbed. "The train station. Where's mommy?"

"Mommy's sleeping." Professor was surprised how easily the lie came. "What's the last thing you remember before you were dreaming?"

"Before?"

Professor nodded.

After a too-long silence, "I was down here, on the floor. My neck hurt."

Professor swallowed. "And do you know why your neck hurt?"

"I had to cut it so mommy could be happy."

Professor's eyelids fluttered, as if his brain had detected a fatal error and needed to restart itself. "But why would hurting yourself ever make Blossom happy? She loves you very much."

"I love her, too." She said nothing more.

"But why did you think it would make her happy?"

"Because if I stayed it would make her sad. She'd be angry."

"At you?"

"At me and her."

Although Ashley hadn't struggled or complained, Professor began to undo her straps. Anything else seemed silly at this point, given her calm. "Why would mommy Blossom be angry at herself?"

"Because we made mistakes."

"Like that street thief you accidentally killed?"

"Accident? No. I just didn't know it was a bad thing."

Professor pulled aside the last strap. "But you know it is now, right? That killing people ever, for any reason, is a bad thing?"

"But... Why do you do it, Professor? Why do you keep killing us?"

Professor's heart skipped a beat. A heavy, cold feeling dropped into his stomach so hard his knees weakened. "Wh—what?" When Ashley said nothing, he found time to compose himself. "But I haven't. I'd never."

Ashley sat up and hugged him for a brief moment, then said. "You're a funny man. I don't understand you. I just wish you wouldn't take my mommy away from me."

Professor put a valiant effort into smiling, then gave up. "I'm trying to bring your mommy back to you. But...you and your mommy are very sick. I'm trying very, very hard to make you better. Do you think you can help me?"

She shook her head. "No. I don't understand."

"Then let me try to explain. Your bodies were very sick, but I think I can make them better. Now your minds are sick and I'm trying to fix them. The part that really makes you who you are, and your mommy who she is. And what your mommy and I need you to do is just spend some time with me and talk. Let me know how you're feeling, what you're thinking." Professor patted a small, blue folder he'd stuffed with simple memory games and tests suitable for a five-year-old. "And play some games with me."

She nodded. "I can do that."

"But first, do you remember calling a man? Mr. Morbucks? Have you ever spoken to someone on the phone, ever?"

She shook her head. "I don't remember that."

"Are you sure? Can you think of any reason why you ever would have in the past, or would want to in the future?"

She shook her head.

"Do you know who Mr. Morbucks is? Princess Morbucks? The Harvester?"

Ashley shook her head.

Professor was unconvinced, but if Ashley was lying it was not obvious in her face or behavior.

"Well, then, let's just forget about all of that and go upstairs. Would you like to change out of that gown and into some real clothes?"

She nodded. Professor pointed to a tiny pile of tiny clothes sitting on a nearby stool.

Ashley hopped down and immediately pulled her gown up. Professor quickly turned away, debating whether he should give her a lesson in modesty, then wondering whether it would be a good way to experiment with her capacity to learn.

"Where is mommy?" Ashley asked.

"Well, she's sleeping in a nearby room. I'd love to wake her up, but before I do that I need to see how well you're doing. So if you do your very best with me and I feel like you and I have done a good job, then that means I've made you better, and then we can come down and wake up mommy."

"So I can't see her yet?"

"Ah, I don't think she'd want you to see her like this. We should let her be for now. Is that going to be all right with you?"

"I dunno."

A thought occurred. "What about Bubbles? Do you wonder where she is?"

"She's with Blossom, right?"

"Yes, but why do you say that?"

"Because otherwise she'd be here with me."

Good point. Kids can be sharp sometimes. "Are you dressed, now?"

"Yeah."

Professor turned around and knelt before her. She was holding her hands behind her back, looking bored. "I know I didn't play with you as much as Bubbles or be as close to you as Blossom, but that's only because I didn't want to get between you girls and spoil your fun when you were just getting to know each other. But just remember, if you can, that I love you very much as well. You're my family. We're all family."

Ashley nodded. "I know. Family."

Professor smiled reassuringly. He picked up the folder and extended his hand. Ashley took it, and they walked upstairs.

For the next hour and a bit, he and Ashley sat at the kitchen table together. Things were going well, and Professor was happy to see them creep beyond the time of the last full awakening. Ashley still had a reasonable level of recall from earlier in this awakening and seemed very lucid.

Until she wasn't. It was nothing so dramatic as it had been with Blossom or Bubbles. As before, her attention seemed to fade away. In her catatonia, she didn't seem to hear him. Her eyes didn't follow the finger he held in front of her, neither followed nor avoided the penlight he shone in her eyes.

He gently pulled her out of the chair and, for a brief moment, she almost stood of her own accord. In the end, Professor carried her back downstairs. He searched for a needle of sedative and, finding none, wondered if he'd forgotten about it while lost in happy thoughts of a world put right again. Regardless, he was certain he had failed to prepare a needle with the fatal, "gentle" toxin. His thoughts had been far too happy for that.

After putting Ashley to sleep with one injection, then somewhere deeper with the next, Professor wondered exactly when he'd stopped feeling sorrow at seeing these girls slip back into the grave.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

[Theme of Eileen - Protection]

Professor's next several sessions with Ashley went more-or-less the same. Then things started to improve.

Improve, but not become perfect.

This confused Professor. Revealed another piece of a bigger puzzle that continued to elude him. Ashley was successfully encoding some memories between awakenings, but still eventually slipping into catatonia. Brain scans revealed activity like R.E.M. sleep at that point. She was very active, mentally, but her attention appeared to be wholly somewhere else. And, sadly, the only cure readily available to Professor was to sedate her, inject the deadly toxin, and start again. Nothing less seemed to work.

Professor considered that her younger, fresher, developing mind might simply behave differently. Maybe the next pieces of this puzzle could only come from awakening all three girls once again.

Whereas he'd once awakened Blossom first, this time it was Ashley. A gesture of what he hoped was growing trust and understanding. Their time together had put his mind at ease, and he hardly remembered her frightening half-awakenings from so many weeks ago.

When she'd begun carrying over some memories from trial to trial, he'd been forced to come up with new games, puzzles, and tests. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth round of these, his choices became less clinical and boring and more engaging. More like play than work. He smiled when she did. He also smiled when she pouted, for in those moments she most closely resembled their beloved, lost Buttercup.

Her eyelids fluttered open. "Wha... Again?"

Professor nodded. She sat up—Professor no longer bothered with straps. Again, a show of trust. Besides, this marked the eighth time she immediately remembered that she'd woken on this gurney before. It seemed safe enough.

"Yes," Professor replied. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"We were... Playing cards?"

"That's right," Professor said, glancing at his notes. He'd begun keeping the minutes of their playtime. "How were we playing them?"

"We were turning them over one at a time. From a big stack."

"That was about twenty-three minutes in," he said. He put his clipboard aside. Their activities had stretched on for hours after that mark. "A little better than before."

"Are they sleeping?" Ashley asked, indicating the other girls.

"Yes," Professor said. This time it was no lie. He'd begun preparing all three girls for awakening nearly an hour ago, so none of them would have to wait for long.

He grabbed a needle and walked towards Blossom. Ashley would have wanted her to waken first, he thought.

He was wrong.

"Can you get Bubbles first? If you're going to get us all?"

Professor cocked his head in his curiosity. "Why?"

"So mommy can have her whole family when she wakes up," Ashley said.

Professor nodded, though did not correct her. Without Buttercup...

No. Better to not dwell on that. To rescue three souls from the grave was worth celebrating, even if a fourth remained lost.

Soon, Bubbles's eyes fluttered open.

In between Ashley's sessions, Professor had spent more time with Bubbles in her half-awake, easily hypnotized state. Refining and strengthening the modifications to her memory, even as he studied its effects on her brain in an effort to understand how those memories could be reshaped while others refused to form. Tried to capture that almost magical process of a person being...well, a person. Learning. Growing. In a word, living.

"Professor?" she asked. "Where am I?"

"In the basement," he replied. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Her eyes squinted. There was a light directly above her, and when she tried moving her hand to cover her eyes she noticed the straps. "What's going on?" she asked, the confusion and fear in her voice tempered with a certain edge in her tone.

"Sorry," Professor said, working to undo the bonds. "Just a precaution in case you panicked when you woke up. What's the last thing you remember?" he asked again.

"I was so tired. I couldn't stop thinking about Princess. The Harvester. I... You and the others were making a trap for him?"

"That's right," Professor said.

Bubbles, freed from the straps, sat up and turned, dangling her legs off the gurney. Then her eyes widened.

"Hi," Ashley said, smiling and waving.

Bubbles's eyes swept over Blossom's still, sleeping form.

Professor stammered a bit before words came out. Waking them all up together in the same room was proving more awkward and chaotic than expected. "Um...you know how I've been spending a lot of time in the lab working on a project I haven't really said much about?"

Bubbles said nothing, but her face was an open book to her soul. Confusion. Happiness. Pure giddiness. Then, for a moment, a flash of sadness as she realized Buttercup was nowhere in sight, and probably would never be again.

"That's amazing! But...why was I..."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Professor asked again.

"I don't know," Bubbles said, desperately. "It's all a blur. What happened to the Harvester?"

"You stopped him, but were fatally wounded in the process. Do you remember going to the warehouse?"

Bubbles scrunched her brow and narrowed her eyes, then shook her head. "Wait— You said 'fatally?' So I died, too?"

"Yes," Professor admitted. Bubbles didn't seem too put-off by this fact. "This isn't the first time I tried to wake you girls up." Ashley knew this, so there was no sense hiding it. "However, after about an hour each of you went into a kind of seizure and had no recollection of being awoken at all. I've made progress since then, but it's possible I'll have to put you girls to sleep at least one more time before things get all better."

Bubbles wondered how many times Professor had given this speech, not realizing it was actually his first. She'd found no pause in his monolog, no break to correct him when he said "wake" or "awoken." "Resurrected" had been more like it.

Instead, "When you say 'put us to sleep,' do you mean..."

Professor ignored the unfinished question. "How are you feeling?"

"Stiff. Sore."

"It will pass." Out of curiosity, Professor asked, "By the way, does the phrase 'full moon' mean anything to you?" He'd asked the half-awake Bubbles this question before and learned nothing.

Bubbles's eyes wandered as she considered his question, then shook her head.

Professor shrugged. "Then I guess it doesn't mean anything to me, either."

Professor turned his back on Bubbles while she dressed, waking Blossom in the meanwhile.

"Professor, I can explain!" Blossom cried out.

He put a gentle finger on her lips to calm her. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I... Ashley?"

The little girl had rolled over a stool and hopped up on it. "Hello, mommy."

Bubbles, dressed but with her hair still hanging loose instead of tied in pigtails, loomed over Blossom as well. "I'm sorry for all the mean things I said to you."

"It...that wasn't your fault. But...Ashley? Are you really all right?"

Ashley nodded. Bubbles explained, "Professor's been working on a cure for death, apparently."

A chill flushed through her at the unspoken implication. "Professor, was I... I didn't really..." As she spoke, she futilely reached for her scalp, but her bonds held her.

Professor nodded. "I'm sure it wasn't intentional." To emphasize the point, he began unstrapping her. Thinking back to what Ashley had said about her reasons for suicide, Professor added, "And I think Ashley was just a bit...mixed up."

Professor then explained the previous awakening and the current situation, as he'd done for Bubbles. Blossom had pressed for more details, and he'd provided what he could without alarming them. Ashley had filled in other blanks with her limited experience.

"So we might forget everything that happens more than a few minutes from now?" Blossom asked. "But we'll apparently be fully functional for a few hours after? And then...'seizures?'"

"In a nutshell," Professor replied. "I've prepared some activities for us."

Blossom shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself for reasons other than a flimsy gown and cool basement air. "Why don't I remember anything from after I was dead? Does this mean... Is there no afterlife, or... What?"

Professor had never spoken seriously with the girls on these matters. In hindsight, he should have been more prepared to answer such questions now. "Well, from what we understand, memories are stored in the brain. And all of you have been having difficulty forming new memories."

"All," Blossom realized. Not "both."

She gaped at Bubbles.

Bubbles shrugged and smiled sheepishly.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

[Anastatic]

Professor had realized he'd have difficulty keeping all the girls occupied. Yet, despite his focus on Blossom and Bubbles, he believed it had been best to wake Ashley as well. His girls found her presence comforting. Especially given that she had more experience with these awakenings, and seemed unperturbed.

While he sat with Blossom and Bubbles at the kitchen table, Ashley knelt at the coffee table in the living room and drew with crayons. Even out of sight, Professor believed the idea of her being nearby helped Blossom and Bubbles to be at ease.

"It's been over thirty minutes since we started," Blossom marked. "Based on your experiments, we're...not going to remember anything now?"

"It's hard to say," Professor said diplomatically. "Ashley, probably due to her younger age and mind developing in different ways, hasn't always responded the same as you girls. We should keep going as long as possible."

Bubbles pressed, "If you're testing long term memory, then why are we playing these short-term memory games?"

"Ah. Well, you see, we can repeat these later in the exact same patterns, rules, and configurations. Even if you don't specifically remember playing, performing better would also be promising."

Bubbles continued, "Are you sure this is even a good idea? I mean... I know it must sound weird, but maybe we should just stay dead?"

"Why do you say that, sweetie? Is there something troubling you?"

"I dunno. Maybe we should just take this as a sign? Maybe there's some...part of us that's just gone. Gone and won't ever come back."

Blossom asked, "Like our souls?"

Bubbles shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know."

Professor asked, "But do you really feel any different?"

"Not really," she admitted. "I mean, if anything I think I feel...better. I mean... Actually, I do feel different. Shouldn't I be happier? Sadder? Angry? What about all those sleepless nights? If I feel better because Blossom and Ashley might be okay now—or at least, that we'll all be together one way or another—then why don't I feel relieved? I was afraid of Mojo and the Harvester and a bunch of stuff, so why aren't I relieved they're not going to hurt us anymore? Or sad that they're gone? It's not like emotions just cancel each other out, so if I felt both ways I'd _feel_ both ways. But I just kind of feel...empty."

Professor couldn't say what he was really thinking. Bubbles had changed even before her death. "Hardness" was the word he'd use. She was more decisive. Less timid. Perhaps, less constrained? He wondered how deep the personality changes that created the Harvester went. He could apparently tamper with her memories of being the Harvester easily enough, but those kinds of "autobiographical memory" differed from behavioral memory. Learning to respond in certain ways to certain situations.

Blossom said, "Well, I admit to feeling better, but...sad, too. Maybe hitting bottom helped. I know seeing Ashley really helps." She glanced in the direction of the living room, though none of them could see her from this angle. "I still feel sad about Buttercup." Her eyes shone with moisture. She stared at her lap. "Sad I maybe let her down. I still think at least _some_ part of her was imprinted on that thing..."

She composed herself and continued. "But my plan to sacrifice anyone to bring her back was just wrong. Every life has the right and the responsibility to be its own. So I don't know about Bubbles, but I feel things. A lot of things. I admit, these tests are kind of a nice distraction right now."

"It's not that I'm not thinking about things," Bubbles clarified. "I'm thinking about these games, I'm thinking about all the things I do still remember, I'm thinking about Ashley and wondering if it's safe to leave her alone, I'm..." Bubbles paused and looked Professor in the eye for a moment before continuing. "I'm wondering why the door to the garage needs a key to go outside now. I'm wondering where the phone's gone. Which all makes me wonder again why we were strapped down when we woke up. I wonder how many times we've gone through this and how many times I've had these exact thoughts.

"It's not that I'm suspicious, really. I'm just...noticing."

Professor nodded. Blossom seemed to be staring at her with newfound appreciation, apparently only noticing those details now that Bubbles had pointed them out. Inwardly, Blossom wondered why she hadn't been as observant. Inwardly, Professor wondered why Bubbles would be so on edge in her own home.

He said, "Perhaps that has something to do with your eye injury and being able to see properly again. Taking greater notice of things you see now that you can see as clearly as ever."

Bubbles frowned. "I'm also noticing the steak knives aren't on the counter anymore. And wondering whether we still keep cutting knives in the drawer left of the sink. And wondering why I'd notice or care."

Professor swallowed and nodded in one motion. "I can see where that would feel out of sorts. You're not having...violent thoughts, are you?"

"Should I be?"

Professor shook his head.

"Well, I'm not. I'd never hurt any of you. Ever."

Blossom asked, "Why are those things different, Professor? The locks and stuff?"

"For your protection. It's the same as suppressing your powers. If any of you start behaving strangely, you won't get lost or hurt yourselves. Especially if I'm unavailable for some reason. Sleeping, for example."

Blossom glanced at the living room. "If we're," then at the clock, "probably done," then at Professor, "is it okay if I spend some time with Ashley?"

Professor nodded. "I hate to say 'no,' but... Bubbles, would you like to continue, at least?"

She nodded. Her characteristic smile was still missing.

A few minutes later, Professor and Bubbles were playing something like chess, but with secret pieces. They could hear Blossom and Ashley speak in the other room, but couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Did I kill the Harvester?" Bubbles asked while she played.

"It was...a team effort."

"Yes or no."

"Presumably."

"So I did fight him?"

"You were involved, yes."

"Did I hurt him?"

"Bubbles—"

"Did he suffer?"

Professor paused. "I couldn't say."

Bubbles sighed, though Professor couldn't tell whether it was relief or frustration. "Why can't I remember any of it?"

Professor lied, "Likely because you died before your brain could encode the experience as a long-term memory. People often suffer similar memory loss in traumas they _survive_."

"Who was he?"

"We hadn't discovered—"

"But you know now, right?"

Professor had needed some story to explain both Bubbles's death and the end of the Harvester's spree without tying them together. Fortunately, the lie he had concocted for Sara Bellum would suffice here as well.

"You left in the night without my knowing and came back nearly dead. You said, 'It's over,' passed out, and died shortly after. The Harvester hasn't been seen since. If there were any witnesses, none have come forward."

Bubbles sighed again. "All right then. I guess that's that."

Near the end of their game, Professor asked, "So, when all this is behind us, what would you like to do?"

"What do you mean? Like, to celebrate?"

"Sure. Or something you'd like to get back to. Anything, really."

Bubbles was silent for some time. "I'm not sure. Ashley's going to be a handful. School is a given. I...guess being superheroes makes sense, but after all that's happened... I kind of wish we had secret identities."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I don't know. It just feels...like I don't want those parts of my life to be together anymore. Everyone knows everything. Good, bad—whatever. People know when I save the day—or don't—and they also know some boy is handing me notes in class. They know where we live."

Professor nodded, pretending to offer his full attention while once again wondering how he ever convinced himself the changes that led to the Harvester were so superficial that walling off a few memories and facts were enough.

Bubbles continued, "Plus, like, they know we've been dead for you-never-said how long. It's one thing for superheroes to reappear out of the blue. So long as you're doing hero stuff, who cares? Not like we'd be the first 'dead for real' heroes to come back after all. In normal life, though? People never looked at us normal in the first place. Now I get to be 'the dead girl' on top of that?" She shook her head. "It's enough to make me wonder if starting over wouldn't be better."

Professor nodded.

She checked the clock. "Getting close. Should we...I dunno, get strapped back down or something? How bad are these seizures?"

Professor shrugged. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Last time—this is only your second full awakening—last time, you suggested restraints and seemed okay with it. Granted, in that instance Blossom had been awake roughly an hour longer, so you had a chance to see firsthand. She bit Ashley's lip badly and babbled incoherently before I sedated her."

"Don't you mean 'put down?'"

"Er, no. Only sedated. At least, until well after I examined and tried to help her. In any case, I'm just curious why you would suggests restraints so readily?" In particular, considering it seemed at odds with her overall defensive posture.

Bubbles shrugged. "Not like it's going to do me any harm. If Blossom and I end up doing better than Ashley, we can just get back up later. If we're not, then why should I run loose when I might hurt one of you, or even myself?"

"I can understand that line of reasoning just fine. Commend it, even. It's just...how to put this..."

"Not like me?"

"Well, for want of a better phrasing."

"No, you're right. But you said it was commendable, so that's good, right? Maybe after all that's happened I'm ready to step up, try harder, and do more. There's too much going on for me to be wishy-washy anymore." Rising from her chair to emphasize the point, she asked, "Shall we?"

Professor couldn't find reason to say no. They went downstairs together. "If we're going to do this anyway," he said, "I'd like to attach some monitoring equipment. I haven't had an opportunity to collect information from you or Blossom during the initiation of the seizures."

Bubbles glanced at the equipment Professor's gaze had passed over. "That's fine. What do you need to do? Do you need me to take my gown off?"

"Well, um...we can skip those ones."

Bubbles rolled her eyes, shook her head, and disrobed. Professor turned away out of respect.

"I'm pretty sure I wasn't wearing that same gown when I died, you know. And it sounds to me like you haven't always 'skipped' those sensors. Come on, dad," she chastised. She grunted a bit when she hopped onto the gurney. "It's cute and all, but I probably won't remember anyway and you're on a time limit here."

Somehow Professor now managed to feel more ashamed for being chivalrous. He was lost in thought as he applied the sensor pads and neural net. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid? Of what? Dying?"

"Pretty much that, yes."

She smiled. "Been there, done that."

Done with the sensors, Professor pulled up the thin sheet and began strapping her down. "I don't know. It just seems like death should be a more significant thing."

"Professor, if you really believed that, we wouldn't be talking right now."

"There's a difference between a lust for life and indifference towards death."

"Wow, that's pithy. I'll have to remember that one." Bubbles winked.

Professor smiled back.

"Is everything set up?" she asked. "Maybe you should go grab the others."

Professor nodded. "Yes, I am, and yes, you're right. I'll be right back." He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

Professor was halfway up the stairs when Bubbles called out.

"Professor?"

"Yes?" he asked, worried.

"Earlier you asked if 'full moon' meant anything to me. All I can think about is sneaking out at night and drifting with the clouds until I got tired. And it kind of reminds me of my eye when it was hurt. Big, white, and round."

"That's odd. You know, it was Blossom that was repeating that phrase when she started babbling. Honestly, I probably should have asked her as well, but it was hard to stay on track with all the excitement. Thank you, in any case."

"You're welcome."

By the time Professor reached the living room, he'd decided what he was going to say to Ashley and Blossom.

Unfortunately, they weren't there.

Professor felt a surge of panic, and the first thing he did was look around for signs of struggle. There was no blood, no damaged furniture. Just a forgotten pair of coloring books and a set of crayons on the coffee able.

Blossom's door. Her bedroom opened into the living room, out of what used to be Professor's study. Normally he kept it open—no sense sealing off the rooms and letting them get musty. Right now, the door was closed.

Professor sighed as relief washed away the panic. He walked over to the door and knocked.

Inside, he heard a gasp from one and a muffled giggle from another.

"Wh—who is it?" Blossom asked.

"It's Professor. Can I come in?"

"Um...just a second!" Followed by more words he couldn't hear.

Professor tested the knob out of curiosity. It was locked. He knocked again for emphasis.

"Coming!"

A few seconds later, Blossom flung open the door, looking flustered and slightly out of breath. Ashley, sitting on the bed, waved.

"We were playing dresses," Ashley said. A handful of rumpled clothes strewn on the bed suggested as much. Blossom currently wore a pink nightie, different than the one she'd woken up in or the clothes she'd donned before coming upstairs.

"Dress up," Blossom said without hesitation. "It's called— We were playing dress up."

Professor smiled. "That's okay. I came because Bubbles suggested I take her back downstairs. As a precaution. It seems like a good idea, anyway. Ashley always seems to become catatonic, but it seems to affect each of you a little differently. If it's all right with you girls, I'd like us to go the basement."

"Sure thing, Professor." With a little less confidence, she turned and said, "Ashley?"

She slid off the bed. "It's okay, mommy. We can play more next time."

"Um, mommy's had her fill of dress up. Maybe next time we can play dolls or something?"

"How do you play dolls?"

Professor started walking. The girls were not far behind.

"Well, you dress them up, and make their hair pretty, and you make them talk to each other and do things together."

"What kind of things?"

"Whatever you want them to do."

"Oh. I get it. Like Professor and us?"

Blossom giggled. "No, Ashley, it's not quite like that. We're people, but you can make dolls do and be whatever and whoever you want."

Ashley sounded confused as Professor started descending the stairs. "But, isn't that what Professor does?"

Professor looked over his shoulder, but more because it sounded like they weren't following any longer. Blossom and Ashley stood at the top of the stairs. Blossom offered him an apologetic look and then turned her attention to Ashley. Professor waited at the bottom of the stairs and tried hard to act as if he weren't listening.

"Ashley, Professor—daddy would never force us to be someone we're not. Maybe sometimes he'll tell us we can or can't do this or that, but that's just parents making rules. I'm the same—I have to make rules for you too, sometimes. But it's still your choice to follow those rules, and I can't make you be someone you're not. Nobody can."

"But Professor—"

"No 'buts,' young lady."

Wearing a scowl that would have made Buttercup proud, Ashley shot back, "Yeah? Then why is he taking you away from me?"

"What? Ashley, Professor is not... Ashley? Whoa!"

Professor looked up. Blossom was holding Ashley's nearly limp form.

"Ah...Professor?"

"It's okay," he offered, striding upstairs and picking Ashley up himself. "That's just normal for her. I'm sorry if it shocked you."

"That's all right," Blossom said. Her unease implied it was _not_ all right.

"Everything okay?" Bubbles asked.

"Ashley's just become catatonic," Professor replied, panting under the load. "It's normal for her. How are you feeling?"

"Bored, mostly. Hi, Blossom."

"Hi."

Professor set Ashley down and pulled one perfunctory strap across her body, in the extremely unlikely chance she did something different and flailed herself onto the floor when he wasn't watching.

"How was Ashley?"

Blossom stammered. "How...what?"

"She doing all right?"

Blossom seemed a bit confused as Professor guided her to return to her gurney. "Um. Okay. I guess. How about you?"

"Well enough. So she seems pretty normal? For her?"

"She... She seems... Sees. Seams. Schemes. Streams. Beams. Beans. Bees. Buzz."

"Shh," Professor cooed. "Shh, it's all right." Blossom didn't seem to notice. Nor to notice him strapping her down.

"I'm next, then?" Bubbles asked. He couldn't decide whether the undertone of worry was a welcome thing or a sad one.

"It's going to be okay," he promised Bubbles while patting Blossom on the forehead. She continued muttering quietly to herself. He turned to the counter and drew three fresh needles, filling two from a vial of sedative. He injected Blossom first, then Ashley.

"So this is it?" Bubbles asked, a hard edge in her voice. "You think you can stop this? Stop me?" She continued her tirade in force, leaving Professor no room to respond. "You asshole! You goddamned monster! You, kill us? I'll kill you! You slimebag, goatlicking—"

Professor did his best to ignore her as he filled the third needle.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

[Blind Memory]

"Wha?" Bubbles moaned groggily.

Blossom half-sighed, half grunted in frustration.

Ashley was quiet and patient.

"Sorry again, girls," Professor stated. Hastily, he made the rounds and unstrapped them.

"Third time's a charm?" Blossom asked. In any case, the third time she could _remember_ waking up here.

"How long has it been?" Bubbles asked.

"Just a bit more," Professor said.

"How long?" Bubbles asked more firmly.

"Just over three weeks," he said. "But," he quickly continued, "I think we have a very promising avenue ahead of us."

"I feel tired," Ashley said meekly.

Blossom yawned. "Me, too," she tried to breathe out. Bubbles found the yawn infectious.

"Yes, well, that's intentional. Sleep is such a critical part of memory and general brain maintenance. You should perk up a little bit once you get up and about, but you'll be off to bed within the next two hours."

Bubbles asked, "By off to bed, you mean..."

"I've washed all your sheets—they were getting a little musty." Bubbles and Blossom flinched. Professor's smile faltered briefly when he noticed this.

"I wanna sleep with mommy," Ashley said.

Blossom smiled and ruffled Ashley's hair. "My bed's a little too small for two."

"You can take my bed," Bubbles offered. "Fresh sheets anyway, right? I'll take your room, if that's okay." Bubbles didn't know if Buttercup's room was up for grabs, but she wasn't interested.

"You girls can work it out however you want," Professor said. "For now, though, we should get you all up to the living room."

"More games?" Blossom asked.

"Not exactly." He beamed, and said, "We're going to have a family movie night!"

"Oh, I see," Blossom said. "We'll see how much of the movie we remember later?"

Bubbles changed topics. "Do you think this is the answer, or just another experiment?"

Professor shrugged. "Honestly, it's a little hard to say."

"So, an experiment," she declared. "What happens when we have a seizure in the middle of the night? Or is that not as bad as you made it out to be?"

"Er...well..."

"Wouldn't it be better to wire one of us up to monitor brainwaves or something?" she pressed. "And, now that I think about it, is it really safe to have two of us in the same room? Wouldn't we be better off separated and locked in?"

Professor pleaded. "Bubbles, this is your house, your home. You shouldn't feel a prisoner here."

"The new locks do that anyway." She had remembered pointing that out during the earlier awakening, having done a little better than Professor estimated, but not by much.

Blossom pleaded, "Bubbles, please. He's just trying to do a nice thing for us." Ashley clung to Blossom's nightgown, slightly behind, staring at the ground.

Bubbles countered, "A nice thing that we won't remember or appreciate anyway, because we're all still fucked in the head." Bubbles slapped a hand over her mouth, blinking her suddenly-wide-open eyes in shock. "Sorry, that was inappropriate." She continued, trying to force some of the pleasantness she was known for into her demeanor. To Professor, it seemed awkward, like wearing old clothes a size too small.

"I don't mean to sound frustrated. I just don't want to lose sight of things. I'm totally okay to go to sleep strapped in down here and hooked up to whatever probes you can throw at me. I do appreciate the gesture, daddy, I really do. But until we're back to normal, I don't want to _pretend_ we're normal."

"I... If that's what you really want, Bubbles. I just thought, after everything you've all been through, it might be nice."

"Do you really think it's dangerous for Ashley and I to be together later?" Blossom asked.

Professor considered this. Yes, Blossom had once bitten Ashley's lip severely, but other than that she showed no signs of violence. Confusion and jumbled thoughts dominated all of her "episodes." Further, if Ashley were either asleep or catatonic, Professor doubted Blossom would even notice her. Only increasingly extreme stimuli seemed to hold Blossom's attention for any length of time.

At length, he shook his head, "No, I don't believe so. In any case, we should get started soon. Now, up up!"

As they ascended, the girls decided they may just as well continue wearing their gowns if they were going to bed after the movie. The three of them piled onto the couch while Professor took his recliner. Ten minutes in, Bubbles went to the linen closet and grabbed a spare blanket to drape over the three of them.

The movie was a decent sort of action/adventure film. Professor chose it because each scene in the movie had a new, very different, and generally memorable location. Having already screened it, he spent as much time watching the girls as the television.

Bubbles sat on one side, closer to him. Blossom took the other end, and Ashley leaned cozily against her from the center. At one point near the end, Blossom leaned over and whispered, "That's inappropriate." He wouldn't have heard if the scene hadn't gone suddenly silent for dramatic effect. Professor couldn't tell what the fuss was, and remained politely quiet with the assumption it was something embarrassing but harmless.

As the ending credits began rolling, Bubbles extracted herself from blanket and couch.

"You might want to take that with you," Professor suggested, referring to the blanket.

Bubbles nodded and grabbed the end of it, pulling it away with a snap. "Rise and shine, girls," she said.

Blossom quickly came to her feet, adjusting her gown.

"You two heading up?" Bubbles asked. Professor was relieved at her casual, playful tone and behavior.

"I think so," Blossom said. To Ashley, "But if you're going to sleep with mommy, you'd better behave yourself. Do you understand?"

Professor wasn't certain what Blossom was referring to. Though he couldn't see Bubbles's expression, the way she cocked her head suggested she didn't either.

A very Buttercup-like, "Whatever," preceded Ashley walking away and ascending the stairs to Bubbles's room, which had once been the girls' shared bedroom.

"Well, shall we?" Bubbles asked, gathering up the blanket into a messy lump.

"Sure, if that's still what you'd prefer."

"Totally. Sometimes I feel like I didn't do enough for everyone. I'm glad to be stronger now."

Professor smiled and nodded, hoping he hid any trace of his real feelings on the subject.

Downstairs, they didn't fuss over modesty, although Bubbles couldn't remember their last conversation about it. Professor did his work with clinical quickness and soon bundled her up in the much warmer blanket from upstairs.

He asked, "Are you sure you won't be afraid to wake up here alone and in the dark?" Bubbles had insisted the overhead lights be turned off so they wouldn't bother her. Professor didn't have nightlights or safety lights down here.

"I bet if I wake up and I'm still myself, I'll be too happy to care too much. I don't think the straps will make me too claustrophobic."

"Well, you're a lot braver than I am," Professor conceded. "Waking up in the dark, tied down, confused, and alone. It gives me the shivers."

"Maaaaybe you could leave the door open a crack and turn on the light above the kitchen sink?"

Professor kissed her forehead. "Of course, honey," he cooed. "You're a brave, brave girl. If you remember anything tonight...remember I'm so proud of you."

Her wavering smile melted his heart. Professor had to delay his ascent by another minute or two to dab her eyes dry, since she couldn't do so herself.

Professor stopped by Bubbles's room to check on the others. He knocked.

"Come in!" Blossom called.

Professor poked his head in. Blossom had just finished tucking Ashley in to her side of the bed.

"Bubbles is settled for the night. How are you girls?"

"Fine. Feeling pretty tired. Are you sure we'll get to sleep soon enough?"

"Oh, trust me. Once you lay down and close your eyes, you'll be asleep before you know it."

"That's good, I guess. I...really hope this works."

"Me, too, sweetie. And if not, we'll get there eventually. I know we will."

Blossom pulled open the door a bit so she and Professor could share a quick, one-armed hug. "Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Blossom. Good night, Ashley."

"G'night," Ashley muttered back before being overcome with a fierce yawn.

Professor closed the door and went a bit further down the hallway, to his bedroom. He was glad the medicine would help them reach sleep quickly. His own blend of persistent thoughts and emotions left him tossing and turning for so long that he thought he might as well get up and check on everyone.

However, he knew that was both selfish and foolish. There was nothing he could do right now but ensure their sleep would be undisturbed.

* * *

The next morning, Professor heard no response to his knock at Bubbles's bedroom door. This was expected. However, Blossom's nudity and Ashley's absence were not.

Blossom lay on her side, bare back towards the door. Professor crept in, but Ashley was nowhere to be seen. Blossom's body moved slightly as she breathed. Professor peeked under the bed, but saw no Ashley underneath or on the other side.

After peeking in Bubbles's spacious walk-in closet, Professor tiptoed out of the room. He wanted to wake Blossom to see how she'd respond, but decided it was better to find Ashley before adding another unknown variable.

Buttercup's room—the former guest room that adjoined Bubbles's room—was unoccupied.

Professor slinked down the stairs—or as well as a tall, lumbering, past-his-prime man could ever slink. He peeked in the kitchen and saw Ashley, sitting in the same spot she'd nursed her bleeding lip some months ago. Not that she remembered.

Professor's eyes couldn't help but dart at the phone jack to confirm it remained empty.

Ashley was not asleep, but she didn't respond to his presence. A notebook lay on the floor in front of her, along with a red marker and a jar of paste. Plastered on the cupboard walls around her were pages torn from the notebook, framing her still form.

"You will never!" appeared in a few places. Mostly it was the word "never" written over and over again.

Professor approached cautiously, but Ashley did not respond. Not when he spoke, not when he waved his hand or snapped his fingers, and not even when he gently shook her shoulder. She seemed fully catatonic again.

Professor sighed. Unnerving as the sight was, he had to admit he'd seen worse. It was hard to be too worked up in the dawn's golden, warm light.

He closed up the paste bottle and set the materials on the table. He'd have to clean up the papers later. Instead, he hefted Ashley once again and carried her downstairs to a gurney. For now he simply strapped her in, sedation not being a pressing concern.

Professor glanced at the data collected from Bubbles, but would have to study it more closely later. Seeing nothing glaringly amiss, he gently shook her to awaken her. She muttered something he couldn't understand as she stirred, but before long she sunk into another profanity-ridden tirade.

Crestfallen, Professor gave her the usual series of experiment-ending injections. Afterward, he attached the monitors to Ashley for a few minutes before doing the same.

Professor's hopes were low when he ascended to the top floor. He carried a hypodermic of sedative with him, telling himself it was "just in case" even as he fully expected to need it and wondered how much harder it would be to carry an eleven-year-old down _two_ flights of stairs.

It was as he expected. Professor found her discarded garments and dressed her before making his way downstairs. By the time he was finished, he was too exhausted to do anything more than sit in the kitchen and wait for coffee.

While he waited, he idly wondered whether security cameras would be a good idea. Ultimately, he dismissed it. If the girls knew, it could be ill-received and even skew their behavior. If they didn't, it would be an invasion of privacy he just wasn't comfortable with.

Still, staring at Ashley's art project on the cupboards, he wished he had some better idea of what was going on.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

[Two Evils]

Sleep did seem to extend their recall, but they still fell short. For their second and third movie nights, the girls had watched the forgotten portions of their first two movies, wanting to know how they ended. Tonight would be the fourth pass, with a new movie suggested by Bubbles. Apparently she was excited to learn there was a sequel to some vampire romance franchise. Professor wasn't sure the movie met his criteria for easily memorable sequences of vivid scenes, but it was hard to say "no" to her puppy-dog eyes.

Bubbles continued to request sleeping while monitored. This time, Professor had moved the equipment to Blossom's bedroom, planning to insist Bubbles at least enjoy a comfortable rest. Ashley and Blossom continued sleeping in Bubbles's room.

The second night, Blossom had remained clothed. The third, she had not. Tonight, who knew?

Each time, Ashley left him a new surprise. The second time, he'd painfully stepped on a toy when exiting his bedroom, still yawning. Ashley had been sleeping at Blossom's side when he found her.

Last time, he found Ashley sitting naked in the shower. He wasn't certain how long she'd been there, but the water had long gone cold and her digits wrinkled.

Professor didn't bother questioning Ashley in depth. Though her behavior was strange, she didn't seem to remember any of it. It seemed curious, but harmless. He still wished he could observe her in action.

To that end, with no social life or pressing engagements, Professor had simply shifted his sleeping schedule a few hours forward. Tonight, he'd leave his bedroom door open a crack and listen for Ashley to come out.

But first, Professor had to endure a teenage vampire romance drama movie. Sequel.

Nearer the end of the movie, by the time Professor was all-but-certain the girls would have no further memory of this night, Blossom said a firm, "No."

Professor and Bubbles turned their attention to them. "Go sit in the middle, and keep your hands to yourself."

"But—"

"Go. Mommy says so."

Ashley grumbled, but complied, sliding down the couch and pulling the blanket up to her chin while she pouted.

Bubbles spat, "Could you two goddamn shut the hell up?"

Blossom seemed just as shocked as Professor was. She leaned over and put her hands over Ashley's ears, for what little good it did now. "Language!"

"I—I'm sorry. Just...maybe the stress?"

Professor had remained vague regarding their "seizure" states, save for mentioning Ashley's catatonia. He was the only one in the room drawing parallels between Bubbles's outburst and her late-stage seizures.

Ashley pulled Blossom's hands away from her ears and said, "Sorry, mommy. I'll be quiet."

Bubbles, Blossom, and Professor exchanged awkward, apologetic glances before turning to the television once again.

* * *

After the girls went to bed, Professor was reading yet another neuroscience-themed whitepaper. Even in the faint light of his tablet, his disinterest was evident. It was juvenile compared to what he was doing, but if there was even so much as a scrap of inspiration to be had it was worth it. People learned best from mistakes, and if that meant sifting through someone's else's then so be it.

Even so, Professor didn't notice the noises at first. When he did, he realized they'd been quietly in the background for a little while.

Professor put the tablet down and let his eyes adjust to the dark as he strained his ears. It was something vocal, but not words, he thought.

He wondered if Bubbles was screaming and he was only able to hear because she was a floor closer than usual. That wasn't it, though. This was closer, softer.

Professor crept out of bed and opened his door. The sounds were coming from Bubbles's bedroom, where Ashley and Blossom slept. The vocalizations were varied and sporadic.

He crept closer. Some were drawn out, moans and whines. Some were short, pants and gasps. Was someone struggling? Having a nightmare?

The door was almost within reach. There was another voice, almost drowned out by the first. It had the cadence of speech.

Professor's heart pounded in his chest, fearing what he'd see. He believed Ashley and Blossom would not harm one another in a seizure state, but what did he really know about Ashley? He steeled himself and flung open the door.

It was not as he expected.

"I love you, mommy! I love you, mommy! I love you, mommy!" Ashley chanted frantically while Blossom, clearly in her seizure state and barely aware of what was happening to her, writhed under Ashley's touch in a mix of confusion and ecstasy.

Professor found himself back in the hallway, back pressed against the wall. He held his hand up to his mouth, belching air as bile splashed in the back of his throat as he realized what he'd seen. Fierce, protective instinct kicked in well before his reasoning mind could recover from the shock.

Professor strode back into the room, grabbing Ashley by her arm and shoulder and yanking her out of the bed. He dragged her into the hallway, pulling her up to her feet. He raised his fist into the air, feeling the strain from palm to shoulder. He just barely opened his fingers before striking her, a backhand that had almost been a punch.

Ashley stumbled under the force, banging her head on a small table nearby and knocking it over. A slender vase of fake flowers and a pair of family photos scattered on the carpet.

Professor was surprised at his actions. He finally noticed the strain in his face and the clenching of his teeth. He tried to relax, but his nostrils flared with every sharp breath he took. What he intended to be a firm but calm question came out as a guttural growl. "What the hell is wrong with you?" His throat strained to produce the feral sound.

Ashley swayed to her feet. Her face was already beginning to visibly swell and bruise from the blow on one side and the fall from the other. Where one might have expected a child to cry, she seemed to ignore it, shouting back, "I don't want to lose my mommy!"

"That is _not_ how you treat your mother! Ever!"

"Then stop trying to take her away from me!"

Professor clenched his fist. Fingernails that had gone untrimmed just a bit too long dug in painfully, but he stopped shy of breaking the skin.

Suddenly he froze, his anger set aside for something more important. Slowly, he regarded Ashley with curious suspicion. "You're awake." His voice was strained, possibly injured from his outburst.

She said nothing, but gingerly poked at each of her cheeks and winced.

"You're lucid," he qualified.

She opened her jaw and flexed her mouth, testing her bruised facial muscles.

Professor knelt in front of her. It was hard to feel intimidated by a five-year-old. Even this one. "What else have you been hiding from me?"

Suddenly Ashley lunged at his face. Professor reflexively backed and turned his head away, but Ashley used his bent knee as a platform to extend her reach. Her thumbs pressed into his eyes, and he fell backwards in reflex, screaming in a mixture of shock and pain.

Mercifully, Ashley was quickly off him, scampering away and down the stairs. Professor slowly pulled himself up, wanting to rub his eyes to make them better but finding any pressure just hurt more. It took some time for the stars to clear and his vision to focus.

A door opened.

The front door.

Professor's hands patted his pocket and found his keys were missing. Stolen while pain dulled his attention.

Professor scrambled down the stairs, almost falling in haste and darkness. He was tackled immediately upon reaching the ground floor.

A form larger than Ashley pressed him against the wall between the living room and kitchen. He heard a voice that had to have been Bubbles, but was full of growling fury.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded. Before Professor could comprehend what was happening, let alone reply, she slammed his chest with the butt of her fist. They were not flailing, comical blows, but sharp and painful. "That is not how you treat your mother! Ever!"

Professor grabbed at her wrists, fending her off. In this moment he did not see his daughter. He saw only the Harvester. Later he would accept Bubbles was having a seizure and unaware of her actions, but in this moment, in his mind, he fought off a murderer.

Professor yanked Bubbles towards him, twisting out of the way. Before her momentum was spent, he grabbed the back of her head and slammed her face into the wall.

The heat of the moment had passed. He feared for his daughter now. She stumbled back weakly, just a half step, then fell forward. There was a small squeak as her face scraped against the wall on her way to the floor.

In the dark, Professor could just make out a small, dark splotch on the wall, and another dark smear trailing to the floor.

Professor bent down towards her, then paused.

Bubbles was unconscious. Secure. If she was injured, if she died, he could fix her.

Instead, he turned his attention to the front doorway, open to the night.

Professor verified the door was unlocked before closing it behind him. He hoped nobody would come to investigate the screaming, but without his keys he couldn't risk locking himself out.

A sea of cricket song filled the air. Streetlights punctuated the darkness between houses. Ashley, of course, was nowhere in sight.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

[Confrontation]

Professor's eyes darted around, seeing nothing as he searched his mind instead. Where could Ashley be? What harm could she cause? Would she have the presence of mind to go to a neighbor? Probably not. Maybe?

Where would she go? She was, when it came down to it, still merely days-old. She knew little of the world beyond their house, a trip to the toy store, and an ill-fated city patrol with the other girls.

What would be a child's purest instinct? To keep running? To hide? To call for help?

He hadn't heard her screaming for help.

She could have hidden in the house if that's all she wanted.

Professor looked left, then right, then turned to the house behind him. It stood tall in the darkness, imposing as it loomed over him in this angle. No lights shone through its windows.

His instinct was to turn right. Was Ashley right handed or left? Did it matter?

Should he look for his spare car key? Cover more ground faster?

No good. No spare garage key.

Right, then. No more time to waste.

What did Ashley know outside of their home? What landmarks? What might draw her?

Something danced at the edges of Professor's mind. Something Ashley had said.

Train station? Train station!

There were no train stations near here.

No, wait. There was. Just one, closed off before he even moved here. Neighborhood parents had petitioned fruitlessly for it to be torn down, stating kids would break in and get up to no good.

He rarely drove this way. He'd seen it once. Was it down here? No. It was after the house with the picket fence. The annoying one so close to the sidewalk you couldn't see the traffic on the other side.

Professor was panting and sweating now. His sneakers slapped on the concrete and asphalt as he jogged. There were hundreds of places Ashley could have gone instead. Hundreds of places she could have hid if she saw or heard him coming. Every passing second expanded the potential search radius, but he was just one man. One set of eyes and feet.

 _Please, God_ , he thought. _Please, not now._

It was the closest thing to a prayer he'd made in...he couldn't even remember. If people found out...if they found out he was _failing_ to bring the girls back, they'd take them away from him. Nobody could know yet. Not until he succeeded. Not until they couldn't deny the good he was doing.

His steps grew to a slow, heavy, plodding stop. His thighs tingled. He'd developed a stitch. He never could remember whether to breathe out with the right or the left foot, and in any case his attention was elsewhere.

The train station was in front of him, now. A dilapidated, useless landmark. All but a few dozen feet of track leading into it had been pulled up to make room for housing. A tunnel through an adjacent hillside was supposedly closed off. Most of the ground-level windows were boarded up.

In the faint light of a distant streetlamp, Professor saw a lighter color of wood. Most of the plywood was aged and weathered, but some underlying wood had been exposed when part was broken away. Professor didn't know whether it happened just a moment ago or days ago, but the gap was a clear way in.

He struggled his way inside, the hole clearly not intended for a man of his size. The inside was faintly lit by moonlight and distant street lamps. Most of the light poured through the skylight above, struggling through grimy glass in places and shining easily through broken out sections in others.

The floor was littered with shards of glass and bits of trash. Walls were spray painted, though in this light the details were sparse. If Ashley were here, her presence was not immediately clear.

Professor wished for a flashlight. Instead he had to creep from the entryway into the main station area, on the other side of a dividing wall with two great archways. Track stretched before him, left and right. To the left it went a ways outside, stopping at a chain-link fence. He saw nobody in the moonlight.

To the right, the hillside tunnel, tracks disappeared into darkness untouched by moonlight or street lamps.

Professor was breathing normally again, though his heart hadn't quite settled. He sat on the edge of the walkway and lightly hopped down to the track area. Large gravel chunks crunched underfoot.

"Ashley?" Professor called softly to the darkness. There was no reply. He crept along, pressing against the wall as he slid into the deeper darkness of the tunnel. "Sweetie, I'm sorry I hit you. It's just that...I love your mommy very much, too, and you were doing a very bad thing to her. I want everything to be okay between us. I want nothing in the world more than that. I don't want to hurt you. I only want to make you and your mommy and Bubbles better. The way things used to be."

Professor stopped. He heard nothing. He had gone far enough he could see nothing except the dim light of the station. Slowly he continued, listening. Feeling out with each step before putting his weight on it.

Something scraped against the gravel nearby. Professor wondered if he spooked an animal, maybe even one that might bite him if cornered. A moment later he saw the silhouette of a child in the lit end of the tunnel, back the way he'd come.

Professor sprinted after her, pulling her off from the lip of the walkway just before she scampered up.

Off balance, he fell down, but kept his grasp.

"Lemme go!" she screamed.

He pressed a hand over her mouth. She bit it.

Professor sucked in a breath through his teeth. He adjusted his grip. He wasn't sure he knew how to do a proper choke hold, but he managed to cut off Ashley's air supply. She remained conscious for more than a minute, struggling against him, clawing fruitlessly at his face. She did manage to get one good scrape of his neck and a few on the back of one of his hands.

Her writhing slowed, then stopped. Professor held the grip a bit longer, then slid her gently to the ground beside him. She lay there in her light green nightgown, almost gray in the moonlight.

Professor shifted to his knees, holding her head firmly with both hands before leaning in. He feared she might fake unconsciousness, trying to bite off his ear as he listened for breath.

And she was still breathing.

Professor considered what to do next. He couldn't just carry a five-year-old down the street this time of night, could he? If anyone did happen to notice, their secret would be out soon after. What if she woke up along the way and started screaming? There'd be no happy ending for anyone.

He had no sedative with him. He couldn't just kill her, could he? How? Keep strangling her until she was good and dead?

Professor looked around. He spotted something leaned precariously against a bench. He climbed up to the boarding area and lifted it. It was a crowbar, at good two feet long or so.

He needed to go home. He needed to get the car to pick up Ashley. He needed to make sure Bubbles wasn't a problem. But could he just leave Ashley behind?

Professor hopped back down. Ashley had no pockets and wasn't carrying his keys anymore. It seemed he'd be changing the locks again. Getting into the garage would be a chore, but if nothing else he could pop off the hinges from the kitchen side.

He didn't have the heart to kill her. Not slowly with strangulation, not suddenly with the crowbar. He certainly couldn't hit her head without risking physical damage to the brain.

He repositioned her body, laying her on her side. He pulled one leg straight, her ankle resting on the train track. He cleared out some of the gravel underneath.

Time was precious, but Professor still took plenty of time to prepare himself. Told himself any damage he could inflict would be repaired with the next shot of regenerative agent. He lifted the crowbar high, hesitated again, and then swung.

The sound and the sight made him queasy. Although he'd planned for two, he decided one ruined ankle should be enough to keep her from getting far.

Professor left the crowbar as he departed, but carried the sick feeling in his stomach with him. At home he had better tools to get into the garage. Better tools for everything.

Bubbles was still lying on the floor where he'd left her. He checked for a pulse and found one. The blood that had pooled around her head brought back some unpleasant memories.

The lab area was still accessible. Professor prepared three needles. He left the sedated Bubbles on the living room floor for now. Blossom was fast asleep when he came to her. He pulled up the covers, gently rubbed her forehead, and injected her as well, just to be safe.

Ashley was right where he left her. He shone his flashlight at her only briefly, not wanting to draw outside attention.

Her eyes were open.

Professor cautiously entered the track area. Ashley seemed catatonic again. Was it an act, or not?

Fortunately, she didn't react to his presence, even when he injected her.

Back home, Professor pulled Ashley out of the car and carried her to the basement. By the time he finished with all three girls, it was nearly two in the morning, and even later than he'd planned to stay up.

Even so, it was difficult to find sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

[Ten Carillons]

Professor roused Ashley first thing in the morning. A partial awakening. This time he was greeted with neither rage nor sorrow, but laughter. As always, she seemed unaware of his presence.

He needed answers. Repeatedly he attempted and failed even rudimentary hypnosis. Even after her laughter left her breathless and weak. Still, he pressed on, ultimately being startled by the inevitable flatline as her body wore itself out.

At least her ankle was back to normal.

"Still no explanation for these troubling variations of behavior," Professor informed the empty room. "Plan to perform a solo full awakening of G to attempt hypnosis under full lucidity.

"Current hypothesis regarding the unnatural display of affection—presuming it's not simply some kind of mania underlying all of G's thoughts and behaviors—is a deliberate effort at memory manipulation.

"In recent rounds, B has experienced bouts of apparently-unintentional profanity. This Tourette's-like behavior bears strong resemblance to her seizure state. It may be that while proper memory formation is impossible, aspects of the seizure state may be imprinted on a subconscious level.

"R has not displayed elements of her seizure state, but these may manifest in subtle ways such as jumbled, distracted, and incoherent thought not outwardly visible. However, G may be abusing the state to alter R's behavior in some fashion, for reasons unknown. Will have to monitor R's future behavior somehow. Perhaps a formal written or verbal questionnaire would be well-received, given her personality.

"Prior to next experiment, must replace house locks due to lost key. Perhaps create my own mechanisms to require both a proper key and particular motions, to mitigate issues with future key theft.

"Computer, please terminate and archive audio transcription."

Ching.

* * *

Professor found a few days distraction both welcoming and maddening. The break was necessary, but the thirst for answers was strong.

With the new locks in place, Professor felt comfortable stowing a spare key hidden outside. Another in the lower laboratories, in one of the floors below the basement but above the Dynamo bay. A keypad on the elevator should limit access—although, Ashley had once called a phone number known to almost nobody.

Nevertheless, he'd be keeping a close eye on her today. She seemed well-behaved in general, but was it just an act? Even if it wasn't, how could he notice the transition between well-behaved Ashley and...whatever "she" was?

Professor waited impatiently as the nutrient drip fed and reinvigorated her body. When he finally reversed the sedative and pulled out the vein tap, he noted he was a bit to harsh in his haste. He chided and reminded himself that there may be at least two sides to Ashley, and to treat her with as much love and gentleness as he'd treat his own girls.

"Hello," Professor said.

She blinked until she could keep her eyes open. "Hi," she said.

"You don't look very happy," he said. It was true. She rarely did, at least when it was just the two of them. But instead of apathy her face was hardened with a subtle scowl.

"We watched the kissy movie," Ashley explained. True, that night's feature was a little heavy on that.

Professor smiled and tried to be patient. Before trying hypnosis, he wanted to pry whatever he could out of her. Hypnosis was, in general, not a great way to gather information. At least, not with any technique that Professor was familiar with. Too much risk of fantasy and imagination tainting truth.

"Do you not like kissy things?"

"I don't like the things _you_ do."

Professor quirked an eyebrow. "Well, at least I don't do kissy things. So what is it I do that you don't like?"

Ashley rolled her eyes and sighed. "You're a dummy."

"Then help me understand. Why are you upset?"

"I told you, stop taking my mommy away!"

"How am I taking her away? What makes you say I'm taking her away?"

"Because you don't want us to be together."

"Do you want to be together like you were last night?" Professor asked. Ashley should not be able to remember even the end of the movie, let alone going to bed or...anything after that.

"No. I just don't want her to forget me."

Beneath the faltering smile on his lips, Professor gritted his teeth. Was she actively trying to be vague and evasive? "How are you helping her to remember?"

"Take me upstairs and I'll tell you. I hate this stupid basement!"

"All right... Tell me first, and then I'll take you upstairs."

For the first time in what felt like ages, Ashley behaved like a child of her age.

Unfortunately for Professor, it was by throwing a crying tantrum. Not that the tantrum part was very effective while strapped down, but the stream of tears was impressive. Mostly she said she wanted her mommy, to let her out, and that she hated him.

"All right, all right!" Professor shouted over her. "If I let you go upstairs, will you promise to talk to me? Promise to help me understand?"

Ashley quieted. Her deep frown and scowl made for an odd combination. She nodded at him and sniffled.

Professor sighed. "All right. Now, I promise not to hurt you so long as you don't try to hurt me."

"You started it," Ashley said.

"Do you promise?"

"Fine. I promise I won't try to hurt you. And I won't, either."

"Good," Professor said. Whether or not he could take her at her word, he felt good for having demanded it. He unbuckled her straps, but stepped back to let her pull the last one apart.

Professor gestured towards the stairs. Ashley hopped down, her bare feet slapping against the floor. Her gown practically billowed out behind her as she marched over to and up the stairs. Professor kept close pace behind her, watching her carefully.

Ashley sat at the table, in her usual spot when they played memory games. Professor already missed those days.

"Now, then," Professor said, taking his place. "Please tell me what specific things I've done that worry or hurt or upset you—or your mommy."

Ashley answered quickly, counting off on her fingers as she did so. "You keep killing us, you keep lying to us, you want me to go away, and you keep trying to take my mommy away from me."

"But how? How am I taking your mommy away from you? When have I ever?"

"It's not my fault you can't remember yet. But it won't work! I won't let you! Never, never, ever!"

Professor narrowed his eyes. "How much to you remember about the last night we were all together? What's the last thing you remember about that night?"

"We all went to the train station. You wouldn't stop talking."

"'Stop talking?' Do you really hate me so much that— Never mind." He couldn't get sidetracked. He needed to gather his thoughts and keep this on track. He leaned back in his chair and blinked slowly as he breathed deeply.

Ashley moved quickly. Professor opened his eyes in time to see her disappear under the table.

He scooted his chair backward and stood, but before he could step away Ashley appeared. She gripped something in her fist and swung at his leg. It poked him painfully.

After that, things were very fuzzy.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

[Lifetime]

A phone rang. Professor stirred, reaching for the cell phone on his nightstand. His bumbling hand found neither.

Awareness came slowly. He was on the floor. In the kitchen. His phone was in his pocket.

Still groggy, he pulled it out. It said Sara Bellum was calling.

"Huh...hello?"

She sounded angry. "Where are you? I've been trying to reach you for almost an hour!"

"I'm just...was napping. Where are you? I mean...what?"

"Are you sure you're okay? She didn't hurt you, did she?"

"I'm fi— She?"

"You come over here right now," she demanded. "We need to talk."

She hung up.

Professor rolled onto his back and massaged his forehead. Finally, gears started turning again.

He sat bolt upright. His gaze darted to his phone, then to the empty house around him. He patted his pocket for his keys. They were missing. He expected that wasn't all.

Professor grabbed the spare house keys from the lower lab. A spare car key was kept in the garage.

Along the way, he stopped to grab a vial of sedative and a fresh hypodermic. In the kitchen, he spotted the one Ashley had used, left on the floor. He'd watched her so closely today...where had it come from?

She hadn't grabbed it today, that was certain. Could she have stashed it earlier? When?

Before leaving, Professor returned to the basement one last time. He grabbed a second hypodermic. Not that he had any plan to use it but...just in case.

* * *

Professor waited awkwardly outside Ms. Bellum's door. Her home was very well-to-do, with simple but stylish architecture. Perched on a rocky hill, it felt somehow isolated despite its proximity to the city.

She opened the door. She hesitated. She slapped him.

She slapped him a second time.

After several awkward moments of silence, Professor admitted, "I deser—"

She slapped him a third time.

"How could you?" she demanded. "Quick, get in here before we make a scene."

Professor rubbed his stinging cheek. With some effort, he kept his thoughts about who was making scenes to himself.

He closed the door behind them. Ashley was lying on the sofa, eyes open but still. Based on the time, she would have been catatonic for more than an hour by now.

Sara stood in front of the counter dividing her kitchen and living room areas, fists planted on her hips. "I don't even know what to do. So, help me, Professor. Help me understand."

"I don't know what Ashley told you, so I'll summarize everything. By the time she and Blossom had died, I'd been thinking about ways... Well, you could guess. Even when Bubbles died I still had a lot of work ahead of me. I never told her, or anyone, to avoid getting hopes up.

"That's been for the best. There are issues, like Ashley's catatonia. We've been improving. However, and I must stress this, Ashley is deeply disturbed for reasons unrelated to this project."

"Oh, it's just a 'project' to you, is it?"

"Words are just words, Sara. Ashley... Ashley is confused about a lot of things, and I can't understand why she thinks them. Or does them. She seems paranoid, and blames me for things I've never done! Now you have every reason to be upset, but I beg you, with whatever shred of decency is left in our friendship, to hear me out before taking Ashley at her word."

"That's why you're here, instead of in police custody." Sara nodded at a bag on the counter. Chinese takeout. "You're lucky I was on my way to surprise you. Who knows where Ashley would have run if I weren't driving down the street right then." She crossed her arms. "Do you even remember what today is?"

Professor frowned, shaking his head.

"Blossom and Ashley died a year ago today."

Professor winced. Sara had first taken him out to an upscale bar on the eve of Buttercup's death. Planned to pay him a visit on each of the sad anniversaries, much as he tried to forget the dates and their meaning. On their birthday as well, though it had been just as bittersweet.

"I will explain, Sara. But first..." Professor pulled out the vial. "May I inject Ashley with a sedative? I believe this seizure state may be very bad for her."

"Is that all it is? A sedative?"

Professor nodded. "The same thing she stuck me with before she went out to you."

Sara paused, considering. "All right." She sighed. "Go ahead. If it's best for her."

Professor nodded. "It is. I swear."

Professor knelt in front of the couch. From there, Sara couldn't see him fill the second hypodermic. After injecting Ashley with the first, he set the second at her side, out of sight. Just in case.

"Thank you. I know, you want, need, and deserve all the answers here, but I just have to ask...do you understand why Ashley may be so upset with me? I can never get a straight answer out of her."

"She...is a strange one, that's for sure. The way she described some things... If she's not crazy, I can't help but wonder if she can see the future."

"See... Why?"

"Later. First, your turn." Sara leaned back against the counter, arms braced on it. Spread out. Relaxed. In charge.

Professor sighed. Though it made his knees ache, he remained at Ashley's side, gently stroking her arm.

"It's simple—I'm trying to bring them back to life, but it's not fully working yet. After a few hours, they stop forming new memories. Not long after that, they go haywire. Ashley does this. Blossom ends up in a daze. Bubbles just shouts profanity in languages I've probably never heard of. It's related to the encoding of long-term memory. Certain parts of their bodies, particularly in the brain, just need further repair. That's all. Once this is all straightened out, they'll be fine again."

"And how do they feel about this?"

"None of them have resisted or opposed it. I think one of them offhandedly posed the question once, but not as a real challenge. In any case, considering the total time they've had to think about _and_ remember anything, they've had about a day to mull it over."

"And is there anything else you've been hiding from me?"

Professor's heart skipped a beat. What else was there?

Well, Bubbles being the Harvester. Ashley's call to Mr. Morbucks suggested some awareness of that.

And, of course, there was Mr. Morbucks's hypnosis.

And the second dose of sedative hidden away right in front of him.

"Not about Project Rebreather," Professor said.

Sara crossed her arms.

"Please... Please, Sara..."

"You asked me, so I'll do the same. If there's a shred of trust and respect left between us, then tell me yourself. Let me hear it from you. Don't make me wait until I read it in some investigator's report."

Professor took a page from Ashley's playbook. He started crying and shaking his head. He squeezed Ashley's hand. It would have been painful for her, were she still awake. He hoped that, somehow, she still felt it.

"God, Sara..." He sniffled. Professor wasn't a good actor, but there was plenty of genuine frustration and sorrow to vent. "God, she... Bubbles... I didn't want you to... I didn't..."

Professor cried for a while longer. Eventually, Sara took the bait. She walked around the couch as she spoke. "Oh, Professor. I know you meant well. I believe that. But this...all of this, you can't—"

Professor grabbed the sedative in his fist. As Ashley had done to him earlier, he jabbed the needle into Sara's calf and pushed the plunger with his thumb.

She yelped and kicked his face. Professor fell over backwards, grunting in pain and cupping his hands protectively over his nose. Already he could feel and taste blood.

Sara seemed ready to continue wailing on him, but her steps faltered and she fell instead. She clipped the coffee table on the way down, cracking its glass surface. Professor winced in sympathy.

* * *

The anniversary made for good cover, in case anyone wondered what Professor was doing there all afternoon and evening. It also helped Professor hypnotically weave a new story to replace what had happened that day. Unlike his brief first encounter with Mr. Morbucks, he had plenty of time here. If anything, he had time to kill.

Professor waited until nightfall to carry Ashley out to his car, hoping nobody would notice in the darkness. Before then, he'd also taken some time to "encourage" Sara to reach out to him if the girls ever came to her. He'd been lucky this time, and couldn't chance things going differently in the future if his plans fell apart again.

Back home, Professor dragged Ashley from the garage into the kitchen. He didn't look forward to carrying her downstairs again.

There was a flash of red hot rage, but it faded quickly. Coolly, calmly, Professor set her down and opened the door. Then he pushed.

Some small part of him felt awful about it. Mostly, however, the clamorous tumble to the basement was satisfying. Besides, the regenerative agent should repair any damage.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

[E -Tangin]

This was getting out of hand.

She was getting out of hand.

If she could just stop interfering with his work, none of this would have happened. Mr. Morbucks. Ms. Bellum. Blossom. None of them deserved any of this.

Professor seethed as these thoughts ran through his head. He waited, counting the seconds. The minutes. The hours.

Ashley lived again—for now. But he had yet to wake her, despite the nutrient drip having finished well over an hour ago. Professor estimated she was almost within her memory blackout period. She shouldn't remember anything that was about to happen.

In a way, it was almost like the Ashley he was about to wake up would inevitably die and be gone forever.

No. No, he couldn't want that. Couldn't hope for that. Answers. He needed answers.

Finally, he woke her up. As soon as her eyes opened he attempted to manipulate her. To open her up to suggestion, to coercion. Simple words, subtle gestures, careful use of tone of voice.

Hypnosis. A powerful tool and near quackery at the same time. Much like magic. Their world held both stage magicians and true wizards. Scientists and mad scientists. Tricksters and mentalists. Ashley had forced him to hone his skills under pressure, against two well-meaning people who did not deserve such manipulation. Now it was time for her to reap what she'd sown.

"Do you remember you and I at the train station?"

"Uh huh."

 _Interesting. She remembers?_ "What happened there?"

"You died. I died."

 _Or are these false memories?_ "I didn't die. How did you die?"

"You killed me. You always kill me."

"I wish that weren't true. Why did you call Mr. Morbucks?"

"Mister who?"

"You told someone 'she killed her.' What did you mean by that? Who did you tell this to? Why did you tell them?" _Slow down. Slow down._

"That man? I brought him here so you'd send him away."

 _No sense._ "When did you take the sedative? The needle you stuck me with last time?"

"A while ago."

"Have you taken or hidden anything else that could be used to hurt, restrain, or incapacitate someone?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Without using the words 'take' or 'away,' tell me how I am taking or will take your mommy away from you if you don't stop me."

Her face suddenly contorted in rage. If she weren't restrained, she'd have leaped at him. "No!"

Just as suddenly, she fell limp and started crying. "I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die."

"Stay with me, Ashley. Without using the words 'take'—"

"You don't wanna bring me back. You just want _them_."

"If you'd only behaved yourself, I'd still want you back just as much. You say I'm making you do these things, I say you're making me do these things."

"You started it."

"And I say you started it."

"You started it before I started it."

 _Childish._ "The man you killed in the city—why did you kill him? Didn't you know better?"

"Mommy and Bubbles say we stop bad people from doing bad things. I stopped him from hurting people, just like Auntie Bubbles."

"So you believe death is an appropriate punishment for petty theft?"

"Bubbles killed him before I did!"

 _No sense. No sense!_ "How did you know the numbers? Which buttons to press to call Mr. Morbucks so I'd send him away?"

"I remembered them."

"From where? When?" Professor's voice was growing throaty. Angry.

"From when I pushed them."

"But how did you know which buttons to push before you pushed them?"

"Because they're the ones I push."

Professor stopped to massage his temples. Calmer, he asked, "If I were to help you get what you want, what would I do?"

"Die."

"If I die then you're all dead, too. What else could I do, right now, to give you what you want?"

"You never will."

"Why not?"

"Because we're broken. Because you need to fix us. Make us better."

"So fixing you all and making everyone better isn't what you want?"

"Not like you're doing it."

Professor slammed his fist on the desk and shouted, "How am I doing it wrong?"

"You don't want us. You want them. You're making them into us into them. It's circles and circles."

 _Crazy talk._ "What color is the sky?"

"Blue."

Pause. "What color is your gown?"

"Green."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

"You say Bubbles has killed. When has she done this?"

"At night, mostly."

"Assuming this is true, how do you know this?"

"Because you told me."

 _Like hell._ "Do you know everything I tell Blossom?" That's the only soul he ever told, and even she didn't remember any of it.

"Not unless she tells me."

 _Which she couldn't have._ "Do you sometimes see or remember things that aren't real?"

"Bubbles says they're just dreams."

"Do you think they're dreams?"

"I think they're memories."

"So, do you sometimes remember things that aren't real?"

"No."

 _Shot in the dark._ "Why did Bubbles think they weren't real?"

"Because she says she doesn't remember."

"Remember what?"

"The pretty forest and river. Mojo hurting mommy. You wearing a scary mask."

Mojo certainly never had a chance to hurt Blossom. This is leading nowhere.

"Ashley, I need you to listen carefully. Do you know the difference between things that have actually happened and things you remember?"

"No."

"Do you know the difference between Mojo hurting mommy and you pushing the buttons so I'd send Mr. Morbucks away?"

"Yeah."

"Good. That's good. Very good."

Professor said this as he prepped another hypodermic. He needed time to digest what he'd heard. To think of better questions. And, more importantly, to attempt manipulation hypnosis at a time when changes could still "stick." It was probably too late in her cycle to change anything this time.

He would drill into her mind that things like pushing the buttons, which had actually happened, were real. Things like Mojo hurting Blossom were not and shouldn't influence her decisions.

He stopped before injecting her.

Pushing the buttons. The phone number. How had she known the number?

"What's the difference between pushing the buttons and Mojo hurting mommy?"

"One of them happened and the other never will."

Professor sighed and set the needle down. "How about the difference between...between you and I playing memory games in the kitchen and me taking your mommy away?"

"I liked the games."

Professor fought to maintain his composure. "And what else?"

"I liked the zoo, too."

Professor rubbed his eyelids. "Is the zoo something that happened, will happen, or will never happen?"

"Never happen."

Still rubbing. "Is me taking your mommy away something that happened, will happen, or will never happen."

She hesitated. "It...could happen?"

"What else do you know that hasn't happened, but could happen?"

"The train station."

Professor cursed.

He drummed his fingers on the table. He should just awaken the other girls instead. Ashley...subject G was a distraction. He still had real work to do. Bubbles was changing in small but undesirable ways. Maybe Blossom, too. He didn't have time to waste on this.

Could he wake up just the two of them? Just one of them?

Skipping only G would be worrisome and hard to explain. If he told the truth, they'd either refuse to believe or they'd be very worried. Any reason he could fabricate would also worry them.

If he woke B alone... He'd never done that before. Never a full solo awakening. Would her paranoia and suspicion hinder his research? Could he make up an excuse to put her mind at ease? With the possible permanent brain damage that each extended trial risked, could he feel confident he'd adjust and figure things out quickly enough? No. Not B alone.

Group activities yielded the best results in autobiographical memory recall in particular, and better recall in general. There were solid benefits there...

Things would be looking better if he had more time. If he could just terminate the experiments before the seizure states caused potentially permanent harm. Except, how could he effectively monitor progress towards averting them? How could he push and eliminate the boundary while avoiding it entirely?

No. No, he'd awaken all three. He'd take precautions this time. Better ones. Ashley would be awoken a little earlier, just long enough to implant some suggestions to help her behave. If they didn't work...well, he had some plans for that.

Without asking another question, Professor put Ashley down.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

[Anywhere But Here]

Professor sat at his new computer terminal in the inner laboratory, fists clutching the hair of his temples as he glared at one of the three screens.

Heat-sensitive cameras had captured the results of the last experiment, and now he watched to see what went wrong, when.

Hidden in the walls of the house, strung directly into the electrical wiring, the cameras could easily go unnoticed even if the girls regained their powers. This limited what the devices could see or hear, but Professor saw and heard enough.

Tonight had been a family board game night. Professor had pulled out all the stops to create an engaging group activity. He had provided food and drink to make the experience more memorable and perhaps create mental associations with smell and taste. Despite the need to remove the food waste from their bodies afterward, it seemed worthwhile.

B's variant of regenerative agent had been less effective. Bubbles had excused herself to use the restroom, and only after a prolonged absence did Professor investigate.

Professor remembered what he saw clearly enough, and wasn't watching that video. Bubbles—B—sitting on the bathroom floor gnawing at her finger. Blood dribbling down her chin onto her shirt.

What interested him was that, the moment he left the kitchen, G had sprung into action. She gave R a hug and what was likely a kiss, though it was hard to tell from this angle and with the lack of detail from the heat blobs. R admonished G for the inappropriate behavior, but startling to Professor was the length of time it took for R to stop G. Not terribly long, but longer than shock or confusion would explain.

R excused herself to go check on Professor and B. After she left, G climbed onto the kitchen counter and jumped up to snatch some of the knives Professor had hidden on top of the cupboards. This did not surprise him, given what came later. What did surprise him was the fact she'd grabbed three, not one.

One of these she stabbed into the lip underneath the table, hidden out of sight. The thunk was audible. Another, she stuffed beneath the cushions of the couch. The third she carried with her into Blossom's bedroom. She opened a desk drawer and, judging by the faint sounds, carved something into the bottom of the drawer before closing it.

Soon, G, was upstairs, where Professor and R tended to B. The cameras hadn't captured these details, but Professor remembered R holding B down with worry in her face and tears in her eyes. Professor struggled to wrap a bandage around her mangled finger and offer futile consolations to R.

"Look out!" R called.

Professor barely moved well enough to avoid G's attempted stabbing. Professor retreated, thundering downstairs as if the devil himself was at his heels. All he knew at the time was he made it away safely.

What he knew now was that G had never attempted to follow him. She dropped the knife and ran into his bedroom instead, leaving behind a confused R and a manic, feral B.

B picked up the knife and stood. She and R had an awkward, silent standoff. Then B shrieked in rage and started slashing and stabbing at the bathroom wall. R fled downstairs to her bedroom, barricading the door with her bed.

Meanwhile, G went straight for Professor's rainy-day cash fund, stuffed in the pages of a physics reference book under his nightstand. He himself had almost forgotten about it.

G scampered down the hallway, moments after R fled the bathroom. Into B's room she went, tucking money between the mattress and box spring. Then further down the hall and into Buttercup's room, where she deposited the rest in the underwear drawer.

On her way out she grabbed something new from Buttercup's closet. G stopped by the bathroom once more. B had vented her fury by now, but turned to look at G. G tossed the item to her. This, at least, explained where the baseball had come from.

"Full moon," G said.

B caught the ball and started staring at it. G scampered down the stairs.

Just in time for Professor to exit the kitchen, having returned from the lab below. The heat of G's body was briefly obscured with a puff of gas. Professor's own form was partially obscured by the tank strapped to his back, as well as a hose running into a nozzle in his hand. A gas mask covered his face and dampened his heat further.

G toppled, unconscious. Upstairs, at the bathroom, B threw the ball at Professor before he sprayed her. He later noticed one of the mask's lenses had a hairline fracture. He'd have to replace it.

R was not immediately in sight. Professor had found her in her room, crying and refusing to answer. He forced his way in. She screamed at the sight of him. Even now, he didn't know whether he'd sprayed a manic, oblivious R or an ordinary, desperately frightened eleven-year-old girl.

There was nothing more to see here. Professor stopped the playback and stood up.

He passed through the main lab, where all three lay dead on gurneys. He continued upstairs, retrieving the stashed contraband. The knife hidden under the table had dug into the lip deeply enough to seem solidly supported, but it was easy to pull out. Very quick and easy.

The money in Buttercup's underwear drawer was not very well hidden at all, as if it was meant for someone to stumble upon it. Likewise, the writing in Blossom's drawer would be noticeable to anyone rifling through, the grooves easily felt by searching fingertips.

"Mommy," it said. Professor would replace the drawer—the whole desk, if needed—if he couldn't sandpaper the word away.

Professor was happy to see Ashley's mischief clearly, but at the same time he worried. Her pace. Her confidence. Doing so much in so little time.

What had Ashley done before the cameras were installed?

* * *

Over the following weeks, Professor conducted a number of partial awakenings. Mostly of Ashley. He also continued to secure the house, simultaneously scouring it for other traces of tampering. He found a fork, flattened, underneath a gurney mattress. A slip of notebook paper in a book on Blossom's headboard, "Enough is enough," written in red marker.

More subtle, Professor noticed the keys on Blossom's laptop had been popped off and put back out of order. The middle row of letters spelled, "VIDEOCAMS."

Those cameras hadn't existed when Ashley did that, or they would have recorded it.

How did she know these things? After several frustrating attempts to pry out answers, he was no closer to understanding. What value did the messages have? Was the money for a planned escape? What about the knives? If she wanted to hurt or kill him, why not do it while he slept? Unless she understood the girls still needed his help to be fixed. But then, why hinder him at all?

Ashley was no longer merely a distraction from his efforts, but an active detriment to them. How aware was she? How much might she have withheld, misled, or lied about? Was it even possible...just possible...that she had interfered with his research during her solo, full awakenings? Lying about her level of recall to steer him away from the answers that would have fixed the girls' problems? Some of his earlier efforts had seemed so promising, and some he was still tempted to revisit if not for their lackluster performance with Ashley.

No, she was not merely a distraction. She was an obstacle.

Professor planned one last-ditch effort to make Ashley play her hand and give him some insight into her goals and motivations. Things he could use to mitigate or undo any tampering she'd done.

Unfortunately, it involved another full awakening of all three girls, but at this point Professor didn't believe Blossom or Bubbles were losing anything in these failed rejuvinations. Rather, they were accumulating extra, unwanted bits and pieces. Already there was so much to shave off that one more night wouldn't leave them any worse off.

And they would have to play their parts.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

[Surface Tension]

"Hello again, girls."

Blossom yawned, drawing in air. "Hello, Professor. Any luck?"

"Darn. Did I ever buy all the railroads?" Bubbles asked, referring to their last game.

"We never finished. Do any of you remember why?"

"I don't. Bubbles?"

"Nope. Ashley?"

Ashley said nothing.

Professor prompted her. "Do you remember taking knives from the kitchen?"

Nothing.

"Do you remember taking money from my room and hiding it?"

Nothing.

"Was she seizing?" Blossom asked. As she sat up, she noticed Ashley was the only one strapped down.

"Why don't you ask her? She seems to listen to you."

"Ashley, would you ever do anything to hurt Professor?"

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"Because he's taking you away from me."

Professor interrupted, "Yet, I have no idea what she means by that or why she thinks it. Do you know, the first time all three of you woke up, when Blossom bit her lip, she ran upstairs. I thought she was hurt and afraid. She called Mr. Morbucks. On a private number known only to people I could count on one hand.

"Or that—almost immediately after waking her up, long before any possible seizure state—she injected me with a sedative she'd hidden during an earlier awakening. She took my keys and managed to open the new, trick locks on the house.

"And before that, I heard sounds from down the hall. In the middle of the night. She was doing things to you, Blossom. Perverse, awful things. Although you were in your seizure state, Ashley seemed quite lucid. She fled the house and went down the street to the old train station. Have either of you girls pointed it out to her or talked about it, ever?"

Bubbles and Blossom shook their heads, watching Professor with mild shock as they tried to process the information overload.

"Now, Blossom, Bubbles, this is important. I want both of you to think of a word or phrase right now. Keep it to yourselves.

"Tonight, we're going to make an important decision. If you make that decision, and only then, you can tell me that phrase. That way, if you forget _why_ you made this decision, you can at least know and trust _that_ you made it.

"That decision is, simply, whether it's best to let Ashley rest in piece. At least for now."

Blossom stammered. "Wh— Wait— What? Professor, she's probably terrified and confused. Ashley would never—"

"Perforate a mugger's skill with a steel bar?" Professor shot back. "I'm not saying we need to decide right this minute, but unless you girls have better luck prying explanations out of her, I'm afraid she's a danger to us all. Her attempts at explanation reek of madness. I want to be convinced, but all I'm convinced of right now is that Ashley and I can't work this out alone. So please, girls—you try reaching out to her. See if you can succeed where I've failed. If you prefer I leave the room, that's fine with me. Whatever it takes."

In any case, the camera in the basement would record the conversation for him to hear later.

While Blossom mulled it over, Bubbles took command for once. "Maybe it's better if you do. We promise not to let her out without talking to you first."

Professor nodded. Before he left, he looked at Ashley. Their eyes met briefly before she turned her face away.

"Maybe some other day, when our family isn't so vulnerable, we can try to help you again. I'm sorry it's come to this, Ashley, but I want you to know that if we do decide to let things be, it wasn't my sole decision. It will have been something you brought on yourself."

The girls remained quiet as Professor climbed the stairs. He glanced at the clock as he passed through the kitchen. It was not long until midnight, but he was still keeping late hours these days.

Professor continued upstairs to his bedroom.

* * *

"Ashley?" Blossom asked cautiously. "Ashley, look at mommy."

She did so.

"Have you been hiding things in the house?"

"Yeah," she said softly.

"What have you hidden?"

No response.

"Ashley?"

She turned her head away and started muttering. Blossom leaned in closer to listen.

When her face drew near, Ashley turned her head again and, before Blossom could pull away, stretched forward and kissed her. Blossom's lips parted in shock, and Ashley's tongue found its way in.

Bubbles pulled the two apart. Several seconds after it became apparent Blossom wasn't reacting.

Blossom felt woozy. Dazed. Slightly euphoric but mostly lost in a haze. She barely registered Bubbles's words right now, and only processed them later.

"What have you been doing to Blossom and why?"

"I. I. I. I," Ashley replied monotonously. Or was it, "Eye. Eye. Eye. Eye," instead? "Eye. Eye. Full moon."

The last came just as Bubbles opened her mouth to reply. The sudden switch-up startled her, but only caused brief hesitation. "Ashley, speak normally. We're worried about you. We love you. We're a family. Help us help you."

"He killed you," Ashley said. "Falling in the dark. He killed you. You killed them. He killed you. You killed Princess. He killed you. He killed you. He killed you."

"Ashley!" Blossom said sternly. "Enough!"

Ashley turned her attention to Blossom. "She's dead. You killed her. You killed us all. You failed. We're dead. You killed Buttercup. You killed us."

Blossom clamped her hand over Ashley's mouth, then turned to speak to Bubbles. Ashley ran her tongue along Blossom's fingers, pressing between them.

Bubbles pulled Blossom's hand away. For a moment again, she'd lost herself.

"Don't touch her," Bubbles said.

"He killed you," Ashley repeated in a mantra.

Bubbles and Blossom spoke over her, trying to ignore her.

Bubbles stated the obvious. "I've never seen her behave like this."

"Me, neither. Do you think everything Professor said was true?"

"Maybe. Why would he fake this?"

"I... I don't know."

While Blossom paused to think, Bubbles turned to Ashley and tried one more time.

"Why knives?"

"You have to protect us. You have to be strong for us. He killed you. He killed you. Falling. Full moon. He kill—"

Bubbles pressed, "He said you called Mr. Morbucks. Why?"

"You killed her." Ashley repeated this, but with an added profanity. Indeed, all her chants directed at Bubbles were now peppered with the occasional naughty word. In random places, a kind of inappropriate punctuation or interjection.

Blossom protested. "Ashley, stop! Who taught you those words?"

"You killed Buttercup. You killed us all. You failed. I love you mommy. We're all gonna die and it's all you fault. I love you so much."

"We're getting nowhere," Bubbles said. Ashley returned to her profanity-ridden "He killed you" and such.

Blossom asked, "Do you think she was like this when Professor talked to her?"

"I guess we can ask," Bubbles said, having to raise her voice even more as Ashley grew louder.

"Ashley!" Blossom shouted, to no avail. "How did you know Mr. Morbuck's phone number?"

"I remembered using it. You killed—"

"But from when?"

"From when I used it. You failed—"

"When else did you use it? How many times have you used it?"

"Just once, mommy, I promise. I love—"

Bubbles put up a hand to stop Blossom's next question. After a moment, she asked her own question, turning Ashley's litany's to her once more. "How do you know Professor is going to take your mommy away from you?"

"Because he goddamned is. He mother—"

"How do you know? Did you see it? Did he already do it?"

Ashley did not respond, other than to continue her babbling.

Blossom tried, catching on. "Ashley, did you remember going to the train station before you went there?"

"Yes, mommy. I did if for you, mommy. I—"

"When we went to the toy store, what did you buy?"

"A dollie. A pony. A piano. The squishy dough stuff that feels funny between my fingers. A hula hoop. A kite. An oven with those brownies you like. A coloring book. A—"

"Ashley, we didn't buy anything," Blossom corrected. Indeed, after browsing the store and looking excited all the while, eventually Ashley grew sad and said she didn't want anything. "Do you remember us buying those things?"

"Yes, mommy. He'll never wake you up again. You killed—"

"Did we buy them all at once?"

"No, just one or two. Buttercup's gone for—"

"Did we buy them the very first time we visited the store?"

"Yes, mommy. I love you so—"

"Did you get tired of those things and not want to buy them again?"

"Yeah. You'd better run. He's coming. Run and hide. It's too—"

Bubbles spoke up, and Ashley changed her tirade. "Do you think she saw the future?"

"Maybe. Maybe it's her special power?"

Bubbles was almost shouting, now. Ashley's litanies, and in particular the random splashes of profanity, were bothersome. Annoying enough Bubbles had to catch herself and avoid adding some rude words to her own sentences. "And if she remembered buying all those different toys, she must have remembered futures that never happened."

"Maybe the only reason Professor wants to separate us is because Ashley's overreacting and giving him reasons to want that?"

"Could be. Do you think you can get her to shut the hell up?"

"Ashley! Settle down right this instant or we're marching upstairs to tell Professor to never, ever wake you up again and you'll never see me again!"

Ashley stopped. Her tiny face scrunched up as tears surged.

"That's better. Now, I know Professor very well, and I know he wouldn't even be considering this if you hadn't worried him. I promise if you stop misbehaving that Professor will help us all be together, and not push us apart. If you really do love your mommy, you'll listen to her. You'll listen to me. Do you love me?"

Face still tight, Ashley nodded silently.

"Now I want you to march upstairs, apologize, and promise everyone this will never happen again."

"Are you really going to let her out?" Bubbles asked. They had promised not to.

"I guess that depends on her. Can I trust you, Ashley?"

"Forever and ever!"

"Promise?"

She nodded.

"All right." Blossom reached forward.

Bubbles grabbed her wrist. "Maybe you'd better let me."

Blossom, thinking back to her earlier reactions, couldn't argue. She didn't say anything, but shuddered and took two steps backwards. Well out of reach.

Bubbles carefully removed each strap. Legs. Lower arms. Upper arms. The crying child on the gurney was regarded with the caution one would give a cornered animal.

Ashley did not immediately move once she was free. After Bubbles took a step back, Ashley sat up and dangled her legs over the side.

"He's never going to love any of us again," she said, staring at the floor. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop it." She looked up. "But I helped everyone. I promise."

"Professor will never stop loving us," Blossom said. Ashley frowned.

"We should go to Professor right now," Bubbles said.

"Help me down?" Ashley asked.

Bubbles hesitated. She stepped forward and reached out.

Ashley whispered in her ear. "You. You're the Harvester. You. He killed you. You killed Princess. You're going to die again. You. He's coming for you. You."

Bubbles froze. A kind of pressure built in her mind. She staggered back. Ashley remained on the gurney. Blossom asked something, but Bubbles couldn't hear. Jumbled images. The word "you," jagged, bloody. Princess's eyes, panicked, bulging. Floating on the clouds, staring at the moon. Poking at her pale, white eye. Blood. Falling. Fear.

When the present started to come back into focus, Blossom stood nearby, steadying her. Pleading for Bubbles to tell her what was wrong, whether she was okay.

Ashley was calmly babbling at Bubbles again. Every word hammered into her, stealing her focus. Pounding a different thought into focus. One image. One idea.

"That bastard killed me," Bubbles muttered, dazed.

Blossom, even more panicked. "Bubbles, talk to me!"

"That son of a bitch killed me!" Bubbles shouted. She stepped away from Blossom's grasp, heading towards the stairs, then up. Along the way, she dropped a few more variations of "he killed me," each with unique "embellishments."

After her voice grew distant, almost inaudible, Blossom suddenly realized she was alone. Or, rather, that she wasn't.

Ashley reached out. "Please, mommy? Don't go. I love you always."

Blossom took a step back.

Ashley hopped down. Blossom hopped back.

"Why are you afraid of me, mommy? He's the one that's killing you. I'd never do that."

Ashley started walking towards her. Blossom remembered her strange reactions to Ashley earlier. Remembered Professor's hints at things Blossom no longer remembered. She imagined Ashley reaching out, and once more becoming powerless to her touch.

Blossom screamed and ran upstairs to her room. Further upstairs, she heard Bubbles's furious voice and pounding on a door.

In her room, Blossom once more blocked the door with her bed. Then she sat on it, drew up her knees, and started crying.

The clock rolled over to midnight.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

[Compressed Into Time]

Professor double checked the safety on his new handgun. It was off. Calmly but quickly, he walked over to the door. It was locked, but the interior doors of many houses were little better than paper thin. Bubbles pounded it from the other side, spewing profanity and accusations like she was seizing. Rather than hours, she'd degenerated in minutes.

Professor aimed low. He didn't want to injure her brain.

After hearing the thump of her hitting the floor, Professor stepped out. Bubbles... B writhed on the floor, clutching her gut wound in pain. Professor stood closer, aiming through the blur of moisture he tried to blink away. Twice more in the stomach. While she lay in shock, he blinked his eyes clear and fired a final shot into her chest. The smell of gunpowder stung his nose.

Bubbles stopped moving.

Professor held the gun low, in both hands, as per the videos and guides he'd read. The weapon hidden away in his room was the main reason he'd chosen to wait there, though he hadn't expected anything like this. And not nearly so soon, regardless.

Professor started walking down the hallway, looking around. Then the lights went out.

Professor retreated to his room, locking the door again. He waited for his eyes to adjust. He had a flashlight in the nightstand drawer...could he wield it and the gun?

He decided to try.

His heart threatened to beat out of his chest when he opened his door. The hallway was empty, save for B's body. Her brain was still okay. She could still be fixed.

Professor checked every upstairs room. Even the linen closet and under the beds. His pace was maddeningly slow. Every sound, every creak and quiet whisper, kept him on edge.

Before he finally started walking down the stairs, he called out, "Blossom? Are you okay?"

There was no answer. He didn't expect one.

He walked downstairs, shining his light around the living room. He hoped the neighbors hadn't noticed both the gunshots and the movement of a flashlight. If police came... Well, he could always hypnotize them, he supposed. He'd find a way. He'd have to.

Professor moved to the back of the house, including the laundry room, before continuing further. Blossom's door was locked. He knocked on it. "Blossom? Are you okay? Are you safe?"

There was no response. He pressed his ear to the door, hearing soft crying.

He couldn't go forward while this room was occupied.

These doors didn't require a key, only a thin screwdriver or something similar. Professor fumbled to pull a multitool from his pocket and unlocked the door. It was blocked on the other side.

Professor stepped back, briefly shining his light in the kitchen. He half expected to see Ashley crouching under the table. Every passing shadow was Ashley darting around. Every darkened corner his flashlight didn't illuminate was her, lurking.

His hand was shaking. He willed himself to steady it, and it almost worked. The kitchen was empty, but the basement door was open. Professor's attention darted behind and in front of him, fearing R's door would be opened and he'd be attacked from behind.

A few steps away from the basement door, he rushed over and shut it. He set the gun on the counter and fumbled for his keys. It took him three tries to get his trick lock to turn.

He dropped the keys on the counter, grabbed the gun, and spun around.

Nobody was there.

He listened. All he could hear was his own breath, panting.

His breathing slowed just a bit. Keeping the light trained on the kitchen entryway, he stuffed his keys back in his pocket before continuing on.

Blossom's door was still closed.

But did that mean it had never been opened?

Professor turned his attention to the stairs. He didn't want to, but he had to be safe. He went back upstairs, back into his bedroom. He paused there, locking the door again before he searched the room. He was its only occupant.

Again he swept the upstairs, then down to the laundry room, and then the living room and kitchen again. This time he opened the cupboards—even the oven and dishwasher—before returning to Blossom's door.

"Blossom? It's me again. Will you open the door for me, please?"

He listened. Soft sobbing again.

Pushing through the obstacle on the other side would require some effort, two hands, and a fair amount of distraction. At least he felt confident he was alone up here. The only places Ashley could be were locked in the basement or on the other side of this door.

He set the light down on the floor and put the handgun's safety on. He kept the gun in hand as he pressed against the door.

As soon as it opened a crack he scrambled backwards. He picked up the light and shone it through, expecting to see Ashley's eye peeking at him through the crack. Half expecting another gun to poke through the crack and shoot him, though the one he held was the only one in the house. That he knew of.

Nothing. The sobbing was a little more audible.

Professor glanced behind him again. Could he just go to the basement and check the security cameras? Even if someone shut off power to the house or tripped the breakers, they'd still work. They were self-powered and wired a bit differently, even if they were simultaneously woven into the electrical wires. Someone would have to sever the wires entirely to stop the feed. The computer in the small office should be connected to backup power.

Either way, what if Ashley was inside Blossom's room? What would he do? The knockout gas was rendered inert very quickly upon exposure to air. He couldn't just fill the room with it. Someone could just hide in the closet or even in the far corner and be unaffected. It was intended for point blank deployment.

He was just making excuses. He had to go forward. Finding a mixture of courage and being too tired of fear to care anymore, Professor pushed his way into Blossom's room.

R sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her head and knees. She continued sobbing.

Professor danced to a clear spot in the room, away from the bed, and shone his light about. He checked the closet first, then under the bed. They were alone.

"Blossom? Blossom, if you can understand me, say something. Anything."

She continued crying.

Professor waited. After a few minutes, he turned the safety off again. He pressed the barrel between her knees, into her chest. He fired once.

R lifted her head, staring at him in shock and fear. Her heart ruptured, it was only seconds before she was gone again. Professor was certain that, this time, R had not been lucid.

Reasonably certain.

Professor moved to the basement door with a bit more vigor, briefly shining the light as he walked. He didn't see Ashley in the shadows at the moment. Instead he saw Blossom's panicked, betrayed expression. The flashlight was too feeble to drive that image away completely.

Professor calmly unlocked the door and pocketed his keys. He opened the door and shone the light downstairs. For the moment, he saw nobody.

He crouched for a better view and shone the light where he could from upstairs. A small flash of light drew his attention to the main electrical box. He'd spent a lot of time there recently, having essentially rewired the entire house to install the new cameras. The metal pipes feeding wires into the box were sliced open, slightly blackened around the rough-cut edges. A ladder was still propped against the wall beside it.

The camera lines had been severed after all. What mischief had Professor missed because of it?

Professor gathered up his nerve, aided now by his growing anger and the confidence that Ashley had to be down here. Still, he imagined her hiding under the stairs, holding a scalpel. Ready to slash his Achilles tendon as he descended. Could he run for it?

He shone his light up and down the stairs and landing. They seemed clear of obstacles.

Professor decided to run down. At the bottom, panting again, he swung his light all around, too fast for his brain to keep up.

There! There she was!

Professor backed into the corner and lifted his handgun in a shaky hand.

Blood. Blood all around her.

Ashley sat on the floor, propped up, staring in front of her, unmoving. Professor attempted to swallow the dryness in his mouth and circled around, keeping the light upon her all the while. A scalpel lay loosely in her hand, resting on the floor. A dark line strung across her neck. A small waterfall of blood had poured out at one time.

Just as she'd done before, more than a year ago, Ashley had slit her throat and bled out.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

[The Perfect Denial]

Professor had reviewed the surveillance. What of it there was. The system had cut over and created new files after midnight, but what he was really interested in came before that.

Ashley...precognitive? It fit. Sara even hinted at it. He would have cursed himself for not seeing it sooner, but how could he interpret Ashley's disjointed reasoning as anything other than madness?

Indeed, it was maddening to think about, if the future were a malleable thing. The strange interactions and choices. A...being like that could never possibly understand human thought, nor could the human mind comprehend the distance of their sight.

Was the future like looking through a shattered mirror, each shard showing something different? Was it like peering through a telescope, far-reaching but narrow? Did human words even exist to describe it? How would someone choose their own actions or judge the actions of others, if that way of thinking was the only one they'd ever known?

Ashley acted as if he'd driven her to these ends, but to him she was the cause of his worst actions. By now, Professor felt no guilt. This...thing had to stay dead.

But all was not lost. True, both R and B were clearly affected by Project Rebreather, and in particular by Ashley's manipulations. She was apparently expert enough in her manipulations to induce premature seizure states, although what she'd whispered to B he'd never know.

Professor had other ideas, however. Better ones. Ones that might even reunite the entire family, Buttercup included.

That last bit would be tricky. Professor had tissue samples in the lower labs. There was nothing to be done about her mind, but her body would be easy to recreate. As for her mind, her personality, her essence... He believed that could be recaptured. Much of a person's nature comes from their unique physiology, and the rest from their experiences. Between his memories, Blossom's, and Bubbles's, he believed they could pull their collective memories together into a reasonable approximation of Buttercup. Done properly, none but Professor would know the truth.

Certainly, he'd have to make some efforts. Sara's...cousin? Uncle? Whoever ran the crematorium where they'd taken Buttercup's body when they returned to Earth. The alien craft had dropped them off right there. No other witnesses to worry about.

Except Sara. She'd been too close to this. He'd confided in her too much. Her relative's memories of one cremation were easy to get rid of. Sara would require more work. Possibly ongoing maintenance as well.

Mr. Morbucks was too close to some things as well. The Harvester narrative might need to change just a bit. Maybe it would even be a good idea to "encourage" him to move elsewhere. There were too many painful memories here. Memories that could trigger a relapse. Professor couldn't risk that.

He'd wake all three girls and spin a tale about life-saving healing comas. They'd remember nothing after Buttercup's death, or even the death itself. He could convince them—convince the world that their survival had been kept secret for their safety and to avoid raising hopes. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be possible.

Most importantly, it required cutting away some undesirable pieces. Harsh memories, life changing events. He'd be able to roll back the clock.

The most brilliant part was that he could avoid the increasing contamination inherent to Project Rebreather. New bodies, fresh grown clones, for each experiment. Neural patterns imprinted anew each time. Patterns that could be tweaked and modified without so much as touching the originals. They could be stored away safely. Forever if need be, or at least until he succeeded at wiping the slate clean.

Clean slate. That was the aim. That's what his family needed. A fresh start.

Best of all, even Ashley would be forgotten. Cut away like so much excess. The world knew of her existence, but they knew little. The girls would know even less.

His work with the regenerative agent had already given him so much to start with. Cutting away small pieces of B and R had quickly allowed him to grow perfectly-formed, appropriately-aged clone bodies. These had, of course, been terminated before awakening. Professor still had much to do with regard to imprinting neural patterns. The data storage banks in the lower labs would have to be upgraded, to be sure.

Professor stood at the living room window, sipping his morning coffee and enjoying the sunrise. After draining his cup, he grabbed a refill and went down to the lower lab.

Having to use a keypad to reach the lower levels seemed a silly annoyance. Likewise the double-sided, trick locks he had to use every time he left the house. Bringing the girls back was at least a few more months away, after all, so for now they were only a bother to him.

More than that, the recent experiments and experiences felt like a bad dream. Even the occasional scavenger hunts for Ashley's tamperings had turned up nothing the last few times. It felt good to put that all behind him and imagine everything would go smoothly, now.

Professor went into the deep storage rooms, to a powered stasis cabinet. It held a few sensitive things, but one precious sample in particular.

While trying to remove the shard of alien metal from Buttercup's head, a piece of scalp had been cut away. It had seemed odd to just toss it on her body or stuff it in her pocket, so he instead kept it in a small plastic bag for later disposal. However, he had forgotten to include it in the cremation, and been surprised to find it in his luggage when he returned home.

Joy of joys, that oversight meant that he could recreate her body, if not her mind.

Professor took another sip as he punched in the code to the cabinet. Even before Project Rebreather, the contents were too precious to let go completely unguarded. Who knew what crazy, unethical things someone might do?

He opened the door. He widened his eyes. He dropped his coffee.

Inside the cabinet were scribblings in red marker.

Never.

Never never never.

You will never.

Never never.

Vials were shattered. Bags torn open. Stasis field projectors smashed. Everything exposed. Spoiled. Rotted. Ruined.

After the initial shock, Professor gripped the cabinet doors with white-knuckled hands. He panted through his nose, trying and failing to find calm.

Down in the lower labs, far from where anyone could hear him, he screamed in fury.

* * *

Later, Professor loomed over Ashley's body. Not for the first time, he felt like strangling it, for all the good or harm it would do.

Yes, Buttercup was completely gone, now. But there was another option. Of course there was. And Ashley probably knew it just as well as he did. Knew it before he did.

Ashley was the spitting image of Buttercup. Physically, at least. And a few years too young, but that could be corrected.

Ashley probably wanted this. Expected it.

Her precognition had to be a special power. Like Blossom's ice breath. Bubbles's omnilingualism. It could be suppressed. It could be removed. He could tweak the minds of the new bodies, so why not the new bodies themselves?

If bringing Blossom and Bubbles back required cutting away bad things until only his beautiful, beloved girls remained, then bringing back Buttercup would require the opposite. Plugging every hole through which Ashley might conceivably express herself.

Ashley had believed Professor was going to take Blossom away from her. She was wrong.

He would squeeze Ashley out of existence.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

[Triptych]

So many months. So much time lost.

Or so it felt, though in that time so much progress had been made. Some in trifling details. A new, better narrative for the Harvester story was crucial. Mr. Morbucks, influenced though he was, still searched for answers. Answers that just barely eluded him, thanks solely to Professor's efforts.

A down-on-his-luck farmer stuck with a terrible plot of land and a windfall from his family's life insurance policies. Drinking himself into moonshine oblivion. Professor had been thrilled when, under hypnosis, he revealed he hadn't set foot off his property in almost two years.

It had been simple at that point. Just like the girls. One injection to go to sleep. Another to go deeper.

It wasn't Professor's place to save that lost, sad man. That sort of work was for his girls. His sacrifice helped pave the way to make their return possible.

Now the new narrative was spun deeply into the minds of both Sara and Mr. Morbucks. The latter Professor had "encouraged" to move away as soon as he could, to get away from the memories and possible triggers for a relapse.

Distractions. All distractions. All necessary.

Necessary for today.

Buttercup—his dear, sweet, Buttercup—lie on a gurney, fully dressed and ready to wake up. He had to focus on her, first. Building a person...rebuilding her was no easy feat. He'd pulled from his recollections. Tied in threads from Bubbles and Blossom as he'd been able to massage them out of their neural patterns. Refinements would be necessary. This one would not meet the standards his family needed, but she wouldn't be dying, really. It was no different than the girls sliding back and forth between life and death, except that it was safer and healthier for them.

"Good morning, Buttercup," Professor cooed as she stirred.

"Dad?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

He smiled warmly. Here she was. Buttercup. "Yes, sweetie. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. When did we get back to Earth?"

"A while ago. There are a lot of things to tell you. But first, what's the last thing you remember?"

She struggled. Then, suddenly, "The ship!"

"What ship? Our ship?"

"No, the bad guys' ship. With the weird black metal. I went out to cream it myself because our ship wasn't good enough to fight."

"Yes. Aaaaand?"

"And...I don't remember. Did I get 'em?"

Professor smiled and turned around. The shard that had stuck in Buttercup's head was in two pieces. One cut off before her cremation, the other stolen by Blossom after.

Professor picked up his piece.

"Do you remem—"

The gurney clattered to the ground. Soft, deceptively strong arms wrapped around his chest and neck. He struggled to stay on his feet with the weight behind him.

"Stop," he pleaded hoarsely. "Buttercup, stop!" He gripped the arm around his neck, trying to pull it away.

Buttercup's other hand grabbed a hypodermic that was sitting on the counter. Professor hesitated, still off balance. Before he could stop her, she jabbed at his face.

Professor jerked his head back, but it did little good. The needle pieced skin, scraped painfully against bone as it slid upwards, and entered his eye.

Without conscious thought, even as he screamed, he grabbed her hand with both of his and pulled down, removing the needle. He threw his weight backwards, sending them both to the floor.

With Buttercup stunned by the combined impact of the floor and his body, Professor easily wrestled the hypodermic away and threw it against the wall. Thankfully, it had never been filled or used. Thankfully, his regenerative agent would repair the damage, if he survived this encounter.

He rolled aside and to his feet, hand cupping his eye. He feared to open it.

Buttercup scrambled to her feet as well. "Give her back!" she demanded.

Professor's face contorted with rage. He let her charge him. As he'd once done to Bubbles, he tried to turn her momentum against her. She slipped, falling to the floor. Professor glanced around, snatching a screwdriver from a nearby counter. He fell onto her, driving his full weight into the knee he drove into her back.

"No!" he screamed. He stabbed down with the screwdriver. His cries of rage drowned out her shrieks. His every word was punctuated with a brief pause as he stabbed again and again. "You. Will. Not. Stop. Me. From. Fixing. This."

He held it in the air with both hands, sending it down with all his might. Into the back of her head. He swirled the handle around, doing as much damage to her brain as possible.

Ashley started to convulse. After a time, she stopped, and he climbed to his feet.

He stared at the blood spattering his otherwise-clean white coat. At the mess on the floor.

Somehow, he had more work ahead of him than he thought.

* * *

How?

That word dominated Professor's thoughts for days. A fresh body, with no memories, whose Chemical-X-based abilities would never have been in effect. An implanted mind with no traces of Ashley and no access to her precognitive abilities.

The idea, when it came, seemed simple. Some super-capable creatures possessed strong regenerative capabilities. Supposedly, they could regenerate completely from a single drop of blood. Body and mind alike.

The idea bordered on ridiculous, but there were stranger things in the world.

His girls had many powers, some still untapped. Perhaps they had that kind of potential in them as well.

The idea was easy to verify, despite the brain damage he'd caused. Professor scanned and studied the new corpse, comparing it to fresher samples. Correcting for stress in the final moments of its life and changes brought on by its death, there were subtle changes elsewhere he could not explain. Changes in expression at the cellular level that supported his theory of bodily memory.

Reflexively, hope welled up in him. Buttercup could be saved!

Immediately, memories of a ruined, festering stasis cabinet filled his mind.

Hope gave way, but not to anger. He was too weary for that. Instead, he cried. A pitiful, lonely sound deep in his isolated laboratory.

After some time, he collected himself. He could work with this. He could fix this, too. Just a few more months of research, at most. Just a bit longer.

As for the creature he'd killed? Some blend of Ashley and Buttercup. Less than Ashley. Less than Buttercup. The meanest and most pathetic of things. But, he determined, definitely not his daughter.

Not yet.

* * *

"Dad?" Buttercup asked. She tried to move her hand to her eyes, but found it restrained.

"Good morning, Buttercup. How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"And what's the last thing you remember?"

Once again, it was the ship.

"What then?" Professor asked.

"I don't know... How did we get home? And what's with the straps?" Buttercup briefly strained against them.

"Well," Professor said as he reached down for the buckle. "These were just because I wasn't sure what you were going to do when you woke up. It must seem so silly." Just before he pulled the buckle apart, he looked down at her in all seriousness and asked, "After all, you weren't thinking of hurting me or anything, were you?"

"What? Why...would..." She trailed off, seeming to search for an answer to the question.

Professor sighed, leaving the strap in place. He ignored her sudden questions about what he was doing as he prepared the injections. He did not answer her. It was better safe than sorry.

Next time. Next time.

* * *

"You weren't thinking of hurting me or anything, were you?"

"Should I be?"

Professor shrugged. "Were you?"

"That's a stupid question! Of course not."

He smiled, or at least did his best imitation of one. "Absolutely right." He finished taking off the straps. "I just worried you might be...not yourself, when you woke up."

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm your daughter!" Confusion, now. "Her...her daughter?"

Professor pulled a taser from his pocket.

* * *

"I just worried you might be...not yourself, when you woke up."

"Oh, really? Who else would I be, the boogeyman? What the heck happened back there?"

"On the ship? Well, you see...you almost died."

Her jaw dropped. "Wh... How?"

"A piece of the ship went into your body when you blew through it. We were all so worried."

She looked morose. "Maybe I should have died."

Professor sighed.

* * *

"You see...you almost died."

"I... Really? How?"

"Part of the ship lodged in your head. It almost killed you. In fact...it should have."

"You sayin' you're disappointed I'm still alive?"

"No, no. Quite the opposite. Why would you think that?"

"Are you okay, dad? You're acting weird."

Professor reached into his pocket again.

* * *

"In fact, you should have."

Worried, now. "I... Why should I die? Are you angry with me?"

"No, no. Of course not. I merely mean those injuries should have been fatal, but somehow you survived." Professor spun his lie about the healing coma.

"How long was I asleep for?"

"A while. The important thing is, you're with us now." Professor turned his back, fiddling with harmless instruments in a tray. Just to the side, he watched her distorted reflection in a polished, chrome container. "But there's so much to tell you. Things happened while you were gone. A girl named Ashley came and then died. It's a shame you'll never know her."

"Ashley..." She giggled. "That's a cute name. I like it. What was she like?"

Professor frowned. Slowly, his hand slid into his pocket.

"It's a shame you'll never know her."

"I don't care about that. I said, 'how long was I out?'" As she said this, she hopped down and grabbed at him.

Seeing her reflection on the move, Professor was quick enough to turn around and pull out the taser. She was clearly surprised to see it. The look of shock and betrayal on her face seemed genuine as he used it on her.

"Dad, stop!" she pleaded from the floor while Professor unlocked a drawer containing a sedative. "What did I do?" Desperately, she reached out towards him, but he was out of reach.

He tased her again to ensure she wouldn't resist the injection.

Even as he did so, he was pleased with himself. There were no traces of hostility, of Ashley, of unwanted recognition. If not for his preemptive self-defense, this one probably could have been a success.

Next time, then.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

[Death of the Butterfly]

"Very well, but you might want to sit down for this."

"What am I, a girl?" Buttercup retorted. "Lay it on me!"

"It's been nearly two years, and your sisters have fallen into healing comas as well."

"They... What? Because of me?"

"Not directly, no. Our family did have a hard time without you, but they each had their own tragedies. Why don't we go upstairs and I'll fill you in."

"Where are they?"

"Safe and sound, where prying eyes won't find them. We'll discuss waking them up later, after I've had a chance to confirm your recovery is going smoothly."

"Why can't I see them?"

"Oh. Do you want to gaze longingly at Blossom while she's sleeping, then?"

Buttercup scrunched up her face. "Ew."

Professor smirked. "Thought so. Come on. Up, up."

* * *

"So on top of all that junk, the T.V.'s out?"

"Afraid so. It does mean you and I can spend some quality time together, which will help me evaluate your recovery."

"I feel fine, except for the whole not having my powers thing. What could go wrong?"

"Who knows? We've never encountered this aspect of your powers before. Frankly, I don't think we should expect or rely on these healing comas in the future."

"What? Why? We're three for three on these healing comas saving our lives. Seems pretty solid to me."

"Because I am your father and I say it's not safe to assume you can't die."

"I ain't saying we can't die, but if we can't die from any old thing we may as well make use of it. C'mon, dad, you know you worry too much sometimes. We're the superheroes. We got this."

Professor frowned. Maybe he needed some way to subtly influence the girls until they got back on track? Maybe just a nudge, considering they already trusted and respected him. Something less dangerous than outright mind control.

In any case, not worth terminating this subject. At least not until he could evaluate his progress.

* * *

"When did you get so good at board games?"

"Must just be a lucky streak is all."

"Well, I'm bored of board games. Can I go up to my room, now? I know you probably miss me and stuff, but after being stuck on that ship with everyone I'd kind of just like to be alone for a while."

Professor smiled. This would be a great opportunity to watch her behavior over the cameras. "Of course, sweetie. I'll be in the lab going over some tests if you need anything. Any special requests for supper?"

"I dunno. Something easy? Spaghetti?"

"Spaghetti it is, then. I'll see you for dinner."

Downstairs, Professor watched. His mind filled in details the cameras did not convey.

Upstairs, Buttercup dug through her messy closet. She retrieved something big, like a school bag, and set it on her bed. The zipper sound as she opened it confirmed his suspicions.

Professor wondered what interest she had in it. School work was not her passion.

"Lame," she said, holding something in her hand. Likely a book or notebook.

Well, maybe there was nothing amiss after all.

Buttercup paged through the book, staring at one or two pages in particular. Then, quietly, she stuffed the bag full once again and put it back in her closet. She retained a notebook—different than the one she'd paged through—and threw away some pages before taking it to her bed. Lying on her stomach, she began to write.

Without realizing it, Professor narrowed his eyes, but it did not help him see any more clearly. She wasn't doing school work, was she? She wasn't the type to keep a journal, that he knew of. He'd have to find a way to investigate later, without arousing suspicion.

* * *

Professor gasped and jerked himself awake. He'd dreamed of Ashley (or Buttercup—it was hard to tell) chasing after him with his handgun, which she'd somehow swiped without his noticing.

He checked his alarm clock. It was almost quarter after two.

He waited a few minutes for the anxiety to fade. He had grown accustomed to unpleasant dreams over the last several months. They remained irksome, but had ceased to be unnerving.

Buttercup's writing lodged in his mind. She should be sleeping heavily enough he could sneak a peek at it. She'd set it in her top dresser drawer, easily accessible.

A few old floorboards creaked as Professor walked on the soft carpet above them. He turned the knob slowly and peeked his head inside.

"It's Professor. Are you awake?" he asked. Loudly enough to be heard if she were awake, and no more. When she did not answer, he opened her door further and walked inside.

Professor opened the notebook, still in the drawer. It helped block the light from his pen light.

* * *

Dear journal,

Whatever the heck day it is.

I guess I almost died. Don't know what saved me. Professor says my body healed me but then didn't wake up until he took my powers away.

The house feels weird. I don't know why. It doesn't feel like my house. My room doesn't feel like my room. I don't think anything is different, but it doesn't feel right. I didn't even recognize half the stuff in my backpack.

Maybe there's something wrong with me. I'm going to write stuff down so I don't forget.

I know I should tell Professor, but something about him creeps me out. It's like he's looking for something to be wrong, and I'm afraid what he might do. There's a bunch of stuff he won't tell me, then he acts like he's trying to see if I know stuff I wasn't even awake for.

It's like he's waiting for something. I don't know what. And here I am, can't even remember what the heck I usually do when I'm in my room. Maybe I have another journal and forgot it?

I miss my sisters. He won't even let me see them. Is he lying to me about stuff? Are they really okay?

She better not ever read this—I'm talking to you, Blossom, to stop reading right now, you jerk! But Blossom would know what to do. She always figured out the hard stuff. All I have are questions.

I guess that's all. Bye.

* * *

Me again. Just had supper with dad. He asked what I did in my room. First off, what does he ever care? Second, he had that weird look again. Like he knows something. I don't even want to know.

I should have said earlier that all the locks are on the inside and without my powers I can't even get out. Our phone is gone and even the computer and T.V. and stuff is out. He keeps trying to act like it's no big deal.

So my house doesn't feel like my house, my dad doesn't feel like my dad, and I don't feel like me. Am I just going crazy? I have to be, right?

But I can't tell him. It's like he's waiting to pounce or something. But who can I tell if nobody else in the world even knows I'm alive in here?

* * *

Professor closed the book and the drawer. His eyes took some time to adjust to the dark, but he didn't think Buttercup had stirred.

He waited more than a minute before he felt comfortable moving around in the gloom. Long enough to consider his actions and how high-strung he was. Maybe instead of anticipating Ashley...

No, he had to continue anticipating her. She'd left him no choice. But perhaps he could find a a way to balance caution and optimism. And next time—he was sure, now, that there had to be "next time" eventually—next time he would try to enhance her trust in him.

It seemed ideal. A reinforced sense of trust. A code word or phrase embedded in their minds. Less than the strength of a full-blown suggestions, but an influence that—combined with a sufficient level of trust in the speaker—could have a meaningful influence. That could allow all kinds of course corrections. And unlike a full-strength hypnotic suggestion, it couldn't be used against them. Certainly not while he was the one they trusted most. And, after all, he'd never do anything to harm them.

Professor closed the door behind him.

Alone in the darkness, Buttercup wanted to roll over. Tears had wet her pillow uncomfortably, but she was still too afraid to move.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

[Wasted Words]

Professor stirred. Groggily, he reached for the cell phone on his nightstand. It was a call from Sara Bellum.

"Hullo?" or some similar mutterance emerged from his mouth.

"I wanted to make sure you didn't worry, but I picked up Buttercup just now."

"That's nice... What?" He grew more alert as Sara elaborated.

"Buttercup called me very late last night. I'm glad to see she finally came out of her coma, but she's very anxious right now. I think it may be best that she stay with me for a while. I'd like you to come by later today so we can discuss—"

"No!" Buttercup's voice demanded, clear as Sara's. Were they on speakerphone? No. The call was probably her car's audio system. Professor checked the clock and the window. The sun was just beginning to turn the sky a dull, early-morning gray.

Sara continued, "I'd like to discuss any concerns you have. Until then, I'll be sure to call you immediately if anything bad happens, and I'll be careful that nobody sees her. In the meanwhile, I'll have you know she's very afraid right now. I know you tend to get involved in your work sometimes, but she's a very frightened young girl who's had scary, bad things happen to her.

"I'm sorry to do this without conferring with you first, but you know I have the girls' best interest at heart, just as I know you do. I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding."

"Yes," Professor said coolly. "Oh, yes, I can assure you."

"See!" Buttercup cried.

"Ssh. Professor, unless there's anything I should worry about, we'll be going to my house and getting settled in. How about we touch base after lunch? Say, one o'clock?"

"If that works for you, Sara. Thank you for calling me—I would have been worried sick. Could you please keep a close eye on her, in case she's suffering from paranoia, delusions, or other mental unbalance?"

"Do you have any reason to think she might be?"

"I didn't want to worry her, but yes, it is a possibility."

Sara sighed. "All the more reason you should have asked for help in the first place. Thank you, Professor. I promise I'll take good care of Buttercup."

"Thank you, Sara. I appreciate that."

He hung up before she could further reply. He stared at his phone. How else could she have reached the outside world? And when?

Perhaps he hadn't been the only one creeping around at night. Worse, his phone had a passcode Buttercup shouldn't have been able to guess. Was this like when Ashley managed to call Mr. Morbucks or worm her way into the lower labs to destroy what was left of Buttercup?

And yet, there it was. Just before 1:30 A.M. A twenty-minute-long call to Sara.

"Hmm..." Professor turned his phone off for a moment. Was there any other way?

Of course. Sara Bellum was an emergency contact. If any terrible thing ever happened to him, this could allow medical or other staff to reach out with the bad news. Passcode or no.

Professor smiled briefly. It wasn't her. Wasn't Ashley.

Then he scowled and slammed the phone down on the nightstand. Regardless of how it had happened, it had happened. The important thing was that it not happen again.

Once dressed, he snatched up his phone. Thankfully, he hadn't visibly damaged it.

Downstairs, he reviewed the night's recordings. Buttercup had visited the restroom almost an hour after midnight, then tossed and turned for some time before sneaking into his room. She took the phone into her bedroom and, in tears, called Sara and tried to explain things. After having read her journal, her fears were not surprising to him.

He could only hear one side of the call—and sometimes just barely at that—but he got the gist of it. Sara apparently asked Buttercup to set her alarm. Professor woke from his nightmare minutes after she returned his phone. She'd probably been awake when he read her journal.

Hours later, her alarm went off. She shut it off so fast he wasn't certain whether she'd been asleep at all. Buttercup peered down the hallway. It seemed to take a little time to muster up the nerve to dress herself. She opened her bedroom window and tossed out her backpack before dropping out after it.

Professor's frustration passed some magical threshold and turned to laughter. Of course! All these fancy, trick locks for the doors and he hadn't bothered securing the windows.

While he thought about it, he also turned off the emergency contacts feature of his phone.

* * *

Professor ate a drive-through burrito as he drove over to Sara's house. By this time he had calmed down considerably. In reality, this was a tremendous success. Perhaps Buttercup was a bit too worried about him—he could fix that. But it also underscored that he, too, needed to change. Project Clean Slate was meant to put the past behind them, and in time he would have to learn to do that as well.

It wasn't all bad. He'd been burned by Ashley enough that it would take a few rounds to convince him she was truly gone. In the meanwhile, provided he could prevent any more daring escapes, it didn't matter if Buttercup required a few more passes for them to get comfortable with one another. Or even Blossom and Bubbles, for that matter. None of the failed experiments would harm them in any way. Even Buttercup's fear and worry right now would be forgotten.

More than forgotten. The individual with those memories would cease to be, but Buttercup herself would be reborn again. A Buttercup who never had those memories to forget in the first place.

Even the body would be destroyed, as had the others. Given his concerns about bodily memory, he couldn't risk recycling the material in any way. Perhaps there would be no harm in it, but he couldn't risk that something would survive the process.

If only Sara could be so easily cleansed.

Sara opened the door.

"She's in the guest bedroom. We can talk privately for a while. Would you like to come in?"

Professor smiled pleasantly and nodded. It wasn't even a forced smile. Even the hands behind his back conveyed a sense of nonchalance. "If I may."

Sara smiled briefly, then stepped aside while opening the door wide. "I'm sure she's worried about nothing," she said. "Maybe she just needs an outlet for all her—"

Professor pressed a small oxygen mask tightly over his face with one hand, spraying Sara with a small canister of knock-out gas with the other. He winced sympathetically as she toppled hard onto the marble-tiled floor of the entryway.

Elsewhere in the house, he heard a door latch.

Professor kicked the front door shut behind him, then waited another moment for the gas in the air to clear. He tucked the oxygen mask under one arm while he locked the door behind him. Not that it couldn't be unlocked from the inside. Too bad changing the locks here would be a bit too much.

Still, this was the second time he'd come here. Maybe some measures would be wise. In the house and in Sara.

Professor did not look for the guest bedroom. Instead, he played a hunch and went for the back patio/pool area. Through the plate glass doors.

He saw Buttercup tumbling to the ground, feet tangled up in curtains that trailed out the window behind her.

Seeing the mask over his mouth and the canister in his hand, she scrambled just far enough to dive into the swimming pool.

Calm, Professor removed the mask and glanced around while walking to one corner of the pool. It was better to press her back into the house, if anywhere. He could wait.

After the third time Buttercup poked her head up for a few gasps of air, he pulled up a patio chair and sat.

Buttercup's head popped out of the water. She glared at him, bobbing as she tried to keep afloat. "What did you do to her?"

"Sara is asleep, nothing more. This is just knock-out gas," he said, shaking the canister. "You don't think I'd really do anything to hurt either of you, do you?"

"Why are you doing this, then? What's wrong with you?"

"Me? Why, nothing's the matter with me. You on the other hand, need to learn to behave yourself." Well, perhaps "learn" wasn't the right word. She'd had no say in it. He corrected himself, "I will teach you."

Buttercup took this as a cue to climb out. During their brief conversation, she'd slowly backed to the far edge of the pool.

Professor was on his feet and running by the time she was on the ground. She had barely enough time to adjust to her body's newfound weight, water weighing down her clothes instead of buoying her up. She ran to the glass doors, Professor hot on her heels.

Buttercup took one look at Sara, sprawled out on the floor near her front door, and decided to run elsewhere. She made it to the master bedroom, but Professor was there as she tried to close the door. He shouldered his way in.

Buttercup fell onto her bottom and scrambled backwards. "Leave me alone!" she screamed.

Professor pressed the mask over his face and sprayed.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

[Memoria Eterna]

Side-tracked again. More distractions. Mr. Morbucks was gone, now. Moved clear across the country. He'd visit Professor periodically so he could make sure he stayed compliant.

Sara's house and his received a few upgrades. She wouldn't even notice the extra locking mechanisms he'd installed on her doors and windows. He liked them well enough to do likewise in his house. A "panic mode" he could trigger remotely and which no key could undo was a comforting thought.

Still, he kept the locks he already had. The "panic mode" should be a last resort, and the locks were a way to test things. Did his girls trust him, despite being obviously locked in? Could that trust plus the new code phrase convince them?

Would Buttercup "remember" how to work the trick lock if she ever stole a key?

Sara had required no small amount of hypnosis as well. This was the second time he had to scour away memory and evidence of a surprise guest. He also needed to install the new security measures in her home without her awareness of them. Her conscious awareness, at any rate.

So Sara had received her own code phrase. Whereas his girls' would be weak and suggestive, hers would be something awkward and rare, but powerful and direct.

It wasn't a matter of trust. If unfinished, unrefined, corrupt versions of his girls made it to her custody again, Sara herself might be at risk. The girls might even manipulate her in some way.

No, this was better.

Professor did his best to recapture his sense of excitement and wonder in Clean Slate. The impending joy of his family reunited and restored. Last time, he couldn't even say Ashley had interfered. Despite the overall failure, that was something to celebrate.

"Dad? What's going on?"

He smiled down at her. At Buttercup. His Buttercup. "A lot. Let me help you up, first."

* * *

The first several days went much better. He was prepared to show Buttercup her sisters—inert clones with no mind, but which still breathed and slept as if in a coma. It was only a small inconvenience to keep them alive and sedated.

Beyond that, he seemed to have some luck putting her mind at ease with the help of the code phrase. Surveillance revealed no unusual behavior. Not even a new journal.

He should have expected her impatience and boredom.

"Well, how are we gonna know if my powers will put me to sleep unless we try?"

Professor shook his head. "It could be dangerous. What if the coma kicked in after a delay? After the whole world and all your enemies knew you were alive—and helpless again? That kind of recklessness could get all of you killed. Do you understand?"

Buttercup pouted. "I guess, but I don't have to go out or anything. Nobody would have to know."

He frowned. It was a valid point. He was not eager to restore her powers until he could do further analysis. In particular, he was not ready to wake the other girls and verify the results of his work with them. If there were flaws and he had to start over, a fully-powered Buttercup could be a problem.

But even though there was no healing coma and no risk of her powers knocking her out, there was a need for _some_ experimentation. If the bodily memory were in some way tied to their powers...

No. More than bodily memory. He'd used differential analysis of all three girls to hopefully remove any traces of Ashley's precognitive abilities. However, he had not verified that special power was actually lost.

"We'll take it slowly, then. I will...lighten the Antidote X treatments. We'll monitor the effects on you and gradually allow your powers to return. Starting today."

"Aw, yeah! So, how long?"

He shrugged. "We'll play it by ear. A week? Maybe two? We'll see."

She sighed in frustration. "Fine."

* * *

There were no discernible effects that day or the next. Her powers were clearly returning. Her strength and speed were probably more than a match for him, if only just. It made him nervous, but he hoped he hid it well.

On the second night, he awoke with a start.

"Professor," she whimpered.

He sat up and saw her, standing in his doorway. _This is it. I'm going to die,_ he thought.

"Professor, I had a bad dream. I... If you promise not to tell Blossom and Bubbles, can I stay the night with you?"

Professor heaved a great sigh of relief, but to her it sounded like frustration.

"I—I'm sorry. I don't wanna bother you or anything." She was almost crying.

"Oh, no. It's no bother. I'm just relieved it wasn't anything more serious." Professor adjusted to sleep on top of the sheets, then pulled them up and patted the bed beside him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

She crawled in and seemed ready to cozy up beside him, then seemed to change her mind and keep her distance. Professor just smiled. Buttercup was rarely "touchy-feely" as Bubbles liked to say.

At first he was content to go to sleep in silence. Then, a thought occurred.

"Buttercup, maybe you should talk about your dream. It'll make it seem less scary, and maybe—just maybe—there's something important about your coma or your recovery to be learned."

"Like what?"

"Well, you don't normally have nightmares, do you?"

"No. Not like this."

"Like what?"

"It was...weird. Like I had this little baby inside me, clawing its way out."

"Hmm... Did you see this baby?"

"Just...just a little. When it started to pull itself out of my bellybutton. It was all covered in blood and gunk. That's not...what it's like, right?"

"I can't say it's pleasant but, no, it's not quite like that."

"And before that, there were all these little pieces of me falling out. Or things inside me. I don't know which. Like...little bits of my body or something."

"Oh, my," Professor said over a yawn. "I can certainly see why that dream would be disturbing."

"Yeah... But, I guess talking does make it seem a little sillier."

"Glad to hear it. Anything else you care to get off your chest?"

"No, thanks. I've spilled my guts enough for one night."

They chuckled.

* * *

Buttercup slept well that night, but seemed distracted the next day. Professor had never had to entertain the girls for so long as he was entertaining her. He couldn't fault her if their eighteenth game of Monocorporation failed to capture her interest. Even if she was starting to win now and again.

He considered "fixing" the television, but he'd already said the Internet was tied to the same service now. He wasn't ready to let her reach the outside world.

"I should go shopping soon," he said after they wrapped up. "Maybe I should pick up some more, different games?"

She scowled. "Or you can fix the stupid cable. Or dish. Or whatever."

"I suppose they should have sent a technician by now. I'll give them another call while I'm out."

Professor carried in a handful of groceries. There was more in the car, but he locked the garage behind him anyway, out of habit.

The basement door was open.

He used a device on his keychain to engage the panic mode locks.

"Buttercup? Sweetie?"

"Down here!" she shouted. She seemed...angry.

Professor wasn't sure if she had her penetrating vision back. Still, he patted his lab coat, feeling the Antidote X dispenser he kept there for emergencies. Then he pretended he was simply checking that he had his keys.

He went downstairs with what he hoped was a casual pace. "I picked up a war game I think you might like," he said in what he hoped was a casual tone. "If you want to help me carry in groceries, we can start putting a roast together."

She—Professor wasn't sure which "she" it was—sat on a stool near a countertop. Not far from the spots where Ashley and Blossom had died in the past..

Halfway down, he stopped. Blossom—or, rather, the Blossom clone he'd shown Buttercup—turned her head to look at him. She was still strapped into her gurney. Her mouth moved, but only a trickle of spittle emerged.

Professor's eyes widened and he turned to Buttercup. "What have you done?" he demanded. "Do you have any idea how much harm you might have caused?"

Professor was not concerned for Blossom. Or, rather, this body that resembled her. He'd never implanted memories, although bodily memory should still be present somewhere deep down. For the moment, she seemed to have all the capacity of an infant. He had predicted their bodily memory had a great deal of work to do to repair the memory loss of a totally empty brain. A brain that had not even learned how to see or hear, to think or remember.

He expected whatever reason Buttercup had for doing this was incentive enough to terminate this experiment, but he was pleased that she helped him confirm a theory in the process.

"Harm to who?"

Professor turned to her, now. "What do you mean, 'to who?' Don't you recognize your own sister?"

"Yeah, I do." She pointed down to the floor. "I also recognize her down there. And Bubbles. And a little kid version of me. I guess that must be Ashley."

Seems she did have her penetrating vision. He gulped.

"Buttercup, I can explain. Just...just calm down and I'll explain. Do you understand?"

"Well, explain them. What are they? And if the real Bubbles and Blossom are dead, why didn't you just tell me? You had to sooner or later, right? That I was the only one with a healing coma power."

He relaxed slightly. "You're right. The truth is, your healing coma inspired me to find answers for them. To fix them. You're helping me make them better. Do you understand?"

"But why these...things?"

"Those are just bodies without minds. They look like your sisters, but they are not your sisters, and were never intended to be." That much was technically true. At least, for these particular bodies.

"So they're not people?"

"No."

"She's like a baby. Are babies not people to you?"

"This is different. Do you understand?"

"You're such a big, fat liar."

"I lied about the healing comas to protect you. In the end, everything would have been better and nobody but me would have to know the truth."

"You mean nobody but you could know the truth. I guessed your stupid password. I didn't read everything, but I saw enough. There is no healing coma, you jerk. I'm not really Buttercup either, am I?"

He supposed "BlossomBubblesButtercup1998" did not require Ashley-level guessing capabilities. This was probably still Buttercup. Trust had been hurt, but hopefully not shattered.

"You're probably in shock. Do you understand?" He walked closer and pulled out his pen light. "Let me check on you. Let me help you. You can trust me. Do you understand?"

She hopped off the stool and circled around Blossom's gurney, putting it between them. "Why? So you can kill me and start over? Like you did the others? They may not be the daughter you want. Maybe I'm not, either. Maybe I really am still this Ashley girl. I know my memories aren't real. The ones I still have, anyway. But I'm still a living person. I'm not them, and they're not me, but I'm me. And I don't want to die. And you have no right to kill me."

"I'm not trying to kill you, Buttercup. I'm trying to save you. To save us all. Do you understand? If—if!—something were to happen to you—and I'm not saying anything will—but... If something were to happen to you, I could save you. Any of you. All of you. This never has to happen to us again."

She scowled. "So, what? One is good as another? One of us croaks, you just crank out the next backup? You gonna back us up every night? What if one of us does something else you don't like. You gonna rip that out of us, too? You gonna kill us off just so you can make us 'clean' again?"

Professor shook his head. "I want this to stop. I really do." He pocketed his pen light, but not in his outer pocket. He slipped it into the pocket with the Antidote X dispenser.

Buttercup reacted faster than he did. He grunted as he shoved Blossom's gurney into his stomach. He barely pulled out the dispenser by the time she was at the foot of the stairs. It was already too late to use it.

Professor ran up after her. He did not see her, but he heard glass shattering. He supposed that was one way around locked doors and windows. He'd have to account for that in the future.

Instead of continuing onward, he fumbled his way into the garage and into his car. She was nowhere to be seen when he pulled into the street. Still, he had one idea of where to look. For once, he hoped just a little bit of Ashley remained.

He parked beside the abandoned train station. The sun was setting. She was nowhere to be seen.

Yet.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

[Omen]

Professor looked around before he closed his trunk. In his hand he held a shotgun. A going-away present from Mr. Morbucks. He also pulled out the Antidote X dispenser again, keeping it firmly in the other hand.

He carefully peeked through the hole in the plywood that he'd crawled in through last time. Seeing nobody, he climbed in.

"How'd you follow me here?" she asked. Her voice echoed enough it was hard to tell from where it came. "I been here before, or something? You killed me here before?"

Professor cautiously walked forward. "So long as you're in my care, Buttercup, you will never die."

"You're either lying or crazy. Do you even listen to what you say anymore?"

He was nearing the dividing wall and archway that separated the entry hall from the boarding platform. "Don't you? I'm your father. I love you. Do you understand? Why would I ever hurt you?"

"Like you hurt them, you mean?"

It sounded like she was to his left. He quick stepped the rest of the distance and swung around the corner, shotgun first.

She dropped down from above. Metal clanged. Bones crunched. Professor screamed in pain as the shotgun went flying out of his hand.

Buttercup dropped the crowbar and picked Professor up with both hands. She slammed him into the wall, then tossed him aside.

As he flailed in the air, he let go of the Antidote X dispenser.

He landed on the large, rough gravel of the track area. He struggled to breathe, the wind knocked out of him. He glanced at his trembling right hand. It bled profusely and bent at an odd angle where bone had been shattered.

Buttercup stood at the edge of the platform. Professor searched desperately for the dispenser. In the dim light, its unassuming beige was hard to see against the gravel.

"We have been here before..." she said, distant. "You...you hurt me."

Professor struggled to his feet, continuing the search.

There! To his right. Her left. Just a few strides and a dive away.

He made it a stride and a half before Buttercup slammed into him. He felt a deep pain resonate through his body when his right shoulder slammed into the wall of the track pit. Immediately he felt painful tingles run down his arm. Fortunately, it was the already-ruined hand, not his good arm.

"I want my mom back!" she screamed, kicking his left knee from the side. His leg bent in a way it never had before.

Again Professor cried in pain. Before he fell to the ground, Ashley grabbed his collar and—painfully—his crotch. She threw him forward, and he skidded across the gravel. It tore skin, even through clothing. His face fared worse.

She had thrown him in the direction he'd been facing. Towards the dispenser. He reached out with his good hand to pull himself closer.

Ashley stepped on the calf of his injured leg. "You broke my ankle!" she shouted. Holding his left leg in place with her weight, she kicked it with her other leg, repaying her old injury in kind.

Professor did his best to muffle his cries. Attention would ruin everything. Nobody could rescue him. They mustn't.

He heard Ashley grunt. He turned his head to see her on the platform area again. He looked forward to the dispenser once more and used his good arm and leg to slide along. The gravel was painful on his already-scraped flesh, in places bleeding through his shirt and coat. But he didn't have enough good limbs to do anything other than crawl and accept the pain.

A brief scrape of metal on concrete. The crowbar.

Professor snatched the dispenser and rolled onto his back.

Sparks flew as the crowbar hit the metal track he'd just rolled away from.

Ashley adjusted her stance and held the crowbar high above her head. With her strength, she could shatter any part of his body like old plaster. Like an overripe melon.

He aimed clumsily with his left hand and sprayed a jet of dark liquid. The Antidote X took effect quickly.

The crowbar still cracked a few ribs when it hit.

Professor stifled a cry and willed his eyes to focus on hers. He sprayed again, this time in her face.

In mid-swing, she removed one hand from the crowbar. It clipped a wrinkle in his pants leg, but just barely missed him.

Professor sat up, growling and screaming in pain he could not ignore. He dropped the dispenser and grabbed the crowbar, yanking it out of her hand. He hooked her back with it, digging painfully into her kidney as he fell back down and pulled her with him.

The pain in his ribs was magnified when she fell on him. It was getting harder to breathe.

He dropped the crowbar and grabbed onto her ear, digging in his fingernails as he rolled them over. Now on top of her, he remained unarmed. He lacked the strength of body to wield the crowbar effectively even if he wanted to pick it up again.

Ashley finished wiping and crying the Antidote X from her eyes. Just in time for their gazes to meet for a few moments. They exchanged looks of utter contempt.

He bit her throat.

She picked up a small stone and banged his head.

He continued gnawing.

"Let go!" she screamed oddly, banging his head again.

He released his bite and picked up a piece of stone of his own. His injured leg and ribs didn't allow him to get good striking leverage. He struck her in the mouth, half-hitting and half-shoving-in the stone.

Ashley choked on her next words. Professor clawed at the wound in her throat.

She pulled out the stone and spat out teeth. She reached for his eyes.

Professor returned his teeth to her neck before her fingers found leverage. He jerked and shook his head as he growled like an animal.

Then the torrent came. A warm, metallic-tasting flood.

Ashley banged his head again. Then a light tap. Then nothing.

Professor panted and heaved. Before he recovered his breath, he spat out blood. Blood from somewhere inside. He suspected a rib had punctured his lung.

He knew he couldn't simply wait to catch a second wind. Time was running out. Tired, battered, he crawled across the gravel. It was an effort to pull himself up to grab the lip of the platform. His broken knee refused to support any significant weight, and what little weight he tried to put on it pained him greatly.

He left a trail of blood as he slithered across the floor to the outside world. He tumbled from the hole and pulled himself into his car.

As soon as he sat, he was tempted to rest for a bit. Perhaps sleep a little.

He shook those thoughts away and glanced at his face in the visor mirror. Blood had pooled thickly about his eyebrows from small scrapes on his forehead. A gash on his cheek bled into the mixture of his blood and Ashley's around his mouth and chin.

He started the car and drove home. Climbed out of the garage and into the kitchen, grateful he hadn't closed or locked and doors behind him.

He lay on his back, and slid down the basement stairs head-first. The bruises and the new "goose egg" on his head were bliss compared to the injuries elsewhere.

Blossom babbled and squealed in infantile, ignorant bliss. He ignored her.

He had an unused batch of Project Rebreather regenerative agent in a cabinet. He grabbed the drip bag and slithered over to Bubbles. He yanked at the I.V. and was glad it came out with the needle intact. He toppled the drip bag stand and dragged the whole works back to the nearest workstation, leaning his back against it.

Soon all he had to do was wait to heal. He sat, eyes lolling in his head as he tried to remain conscious.

All he could think was, "Please nobody find her. Please nobody find her."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

[Memories of the Girl]

The regenerative agent helped. He learned it didn't do as well at mending bone as it did flesh, but it was enough to get him on his feet. He drank a saltwater solution and trusted his body to quickly replenish his blood cells before the regenerative agent wore off.

There was a lot of blood.

It was dark by the time he made it back to the station. He wrapped this Ashley in some old sheets and carried her out to the car. He'd forgotten that groceries and games were still sitting in the trunk. Ruined by blood, he'd have to throw them out later.

So much blood. Most of it his, in terms of area covered. Most of it hers, in terms of volume. Much of hers had seeped through the gravel, but it would still be an effort to clean it all up. He worked late into the night to do so. Strangely—or, perhaps, not so strangely—he was getting good at it.

While he was at it, he found Buttercup's backpack. Apparently she'd prepared for her escape before he came home. Inside he found a change of clothes, some food, and a letter addressed to Mayor's office.

Inside he found a simple, sad, handwritten letter.

"Professor is crazy. He keeps bringing us back to life and killing us. You can't let him do this. If anything happens to me again, you have to stop him. — Buttercup"

He desperately wanted sleep, but he couldn't delay further. He had to find out what she might have done when he wasn't around.

Fortunately, he saw nothing of concern on the recordings. He did see her entering the inner lab—which had no cameras of its own—then spending some time staring at the floor from the main lab. She removed Blossom's I.V. bags and found smelling salts.

After several awkward, sad minutes with the empty-headed Blossom, she stormed upstairs and began packing her bag. She did go to the envelopes and stamps, busying herself with her back to the camera. Fortunately, he'd already found her letter, and fortunately she had not mailed it.

Lessons had been learned. Plans were made.

Reinforce the windows.

Construct a new area in the lower labs and protect it from their penetrating vision like he did the inner lab. Make it look like stone to be less noticeable.

Create a second account on his computer for Project Rebreather, Clean Slate, and other sensitive materials. Protect it with a password only Ashley herself could "guess."

Further scrub Ashley's bodily memory. Sights, sounds, and environments seemed able to trigger recall. At least, with powers intact. Do likewise for the other girls as a precaution. Better to scrub "too deep" and remove "too much," as implanted brain encodings were more manageable and sufficient.

Secure the envelopes and stamps, in case another escape does occur.

And, most importantly, safeguard his life. Each night, he would scan his own memories into the databank. In the event he failed to do so, the most recent copy could be implanted into a clone of his own. Then, if needed, he could still potentially reel in a failed experiment and continue his work.

After all, if it was good enough for his girls, it was good enough for him.

* * *

Meanwhile, in his neighbor's mailbox, another envelope waited. It was addressed to a certain derelict farmhouse Professor had once visited in the night.

Far below, Ashley's body lay still. Inert. Lifeless. Dead, but not forgotten. Never. Never ever.

* * *

Author's Afterward:

Thank you for reading.

After writing _Project Rebreather_ , though I could imagine Professor's slow, sad descent, in the end I just had to see it for myself. Watch the fundamental misunderstanding and adversarial relationship wear Professor down into the calloused man Ashley made him to be. To hear his hollow justifications and wonder, if I were in his shoes, could I do any better?

The only place left to go in the _Ladder_ series is forward.


End file.
